


Home for Christmas

by Aussi18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas Smut, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 151,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussi18/pseuds/Aussi18
Summary: It's Christmas break, and the last thing Regina Mills wants is to be dragged off to England with her mother to visit her snobby, wicked half-sister. But when she makes a new friend in a blonde-haired boy named Robin Locksley, her trip turns into an adventure she never expected. Her mother certainly doesn't approve, but it's not like she and Robin can get into that much trouble... right?This story starts in 1997, when Regina and Robin are 17-years-old, but additional Christmas Break one-shots (each one complete) in this verse may be added as a new chapter.Rating changes to E in Part 3, when R&R are 24-years-old.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Comments: 112
Kudos: 97
Collections: OQ Christmas Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW - Cora is her usual awful self - so there's some emotional/verbal abuse and a scene where she slaps Regina.

_**Christmas Break, 1997 ** _

This is stupid, and unfair, and she doesn’t want to do it.

All of her friends get to spend their Christmas break going to the movies with cute boys and hanging out at the mall together, but not Regina. She’s getting dragged off to England with her mother, to spend the entire two weeks with her half-sister and a bunch of stuffy rich people in some giant old house in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like she’s going to London, where she could at least go shopping, or maybe meet some new friends her own age to hang out with. No, she’s about to be imprisoned a million miles away from the nearest Blockbuster, in a house that’s probably haunted, while her suck-up older sister falls all over herself trying to gain their mother’s approval - usually by picking out every single flaw about Regina that she can find. Regina _hates_ her sister, hates when she has to visit her, because along with being a brown-noser, Zelena is also just plain mean. She’s two years older and on every occasion Regina has spent time with her, she’s done nothing but dole out backhanded comments and belittle Regina’s achievements. Zelena reminds her of their mother, when Mother is having a particularly bad day, and Regina just, ugh, she hates her, she hates everything about this trip and just wishes it was over.

She sighs. Cora can force her daughters to be in the same country, the same house even, but the two of them just _don’t_ get along, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

It’s her first Christmas since her father died, and Regina is pretty sure that her mother is using his passing as an excuse for them to take a trip. She says they need to get away for the holiday, that going somewhere else will make it all seem “less depressing.” But Regina knows better - there isn’t a place on this Earth that can make her forget the pain of his loss, that can put the magic back into the holiday that her father used to create.

He always made it special for her, the two of them had a ton of traditions - picking out and cutting down the perfect Christmas tree, loading it with so many ornaments you could barely see the branches underneath, decorating cookies and trying to convince her mother that eating _one_ wouldn’t ruin her figure, attending the symphony on Christmas Eve to hear all of her favorite holiday music from high up in the balcony. But her favorite, her most treasured tradition was when they volunteered at the homeless shelter on Christmas morning, because it made her feel like she was actually making a difference, and on the way home her father would tell her the story about how his parents immigrated to America. He’d remind her that they once had nothing - just like the people in the shelter - and it always made Regina appreciate how fortunate she was. It made her want to do something meaningful with her life, it made her want to help people, it made her want to _be_ something.

There would be none of that this year, though. No tree cutting, no cookies, no symphony, and no volunteering. This year she’s tucked into the back of a shiny black town car, dressed in all new designer clothing, apparently so she can impress whoever it is they’re going to meet, while her mother scowls at the driver and barks instructions at him, as if this isn’t how he makes a living. Regina and her father used to secretly refer to Cora as _The Grinch_ this time of year, due to her persistent lack of holiday cheer, and this year, it seems _The Grinch_ is in an especially terrible mood.

Regina turns up the volume on her Discman and prays she brought enough batteries for it to last the trip. She hasn’t seen a grocery store in about two hours, and if she has to listen to her mother lecture her one more time about her “attitude,” she’s going to scream. She’s seventeen-years-old and she doesn’t have an attitude. She has a dead dad, a jealous witch of a half-sister, and a mother with a heart two sizes too small, thank you very much.

And she wants to go home.

When they _finally_ pull up to the Gardener residence, Regina is forced to admit that the place is a little more grand than she first imagined, and she’s suddenly glad to be sporting the brand-new blue and red Tommy Hilfiger jacket her mother bought her.

“Mother!” Zelena practically screams with her excitement, flinging open the front doors and running down the steps to greet them. Regina rolls her eyes when her sister completely ignores her, launching into all the things she has planned to show their mother over the next two weeks. Zelena’s father, Jonathan, joins them after a few minutes, along with two members of his staff, and after quick introductions, they take their luggage through the maze of the large house and up to their rooms.

Regina’s room is pretty awesome, actually - at least she gets to have her own bathroom - so she tries to make the best of it. She unpacks and gets her toiletries set up, which takes all of twenty minutes, but then she finds herself with nothing to do. Her mother is nowhere to be found, which, considering Cora’s nearly constant hovering, is really a blessing, so she figures since she’s free for now she might as well explore the manor. Grabbing her red and black flannel and tying the arms around her waist, she takes off down the long hallway to see what kind of secrets this big old house might have.

Regina is rounding the corner into a large living room when she comes upon a stern looking man in a worn leather jacket and a blonde-haired boy, who is nearly as tall as the man, but otherwise appears to be about her age. The man is speaking in a harsh undertone to the boy, who is scowling, his head ducked and tilted dejectedly to the side in a manner that makes it clear that not only is the conversation they’re having unpleasant, but he’s apparently used to this sort of thing. Regina recognizes his behavior - it’s the same way she holds herself when her mother lectures her - and she immediately feels sorry for the boy, wonders whatever it is that he’s done to get himself into trouble.

The boy’s eyes dart over to her as she steps into the room, and the man berating him immediately straightens up, stops talking right in the middle of saying, “Well, there’s no helping you now, you’ve really taken the biscuit this time–” and turns to her.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, giving her a fake smile that makes Regina frown. She notices that he has a strange accent - it’s still an English accent but different from Zelena’s, where he seems to skip the hard-spoken syllables and the endings of the words. “Now let me see… You must be Miss Regina Mills, then yeah?” She nods, confused at how he could possibly know that. She shifts her eyes to look at the boy, curious if she knows him or something, but he’s not familiar to her, and he frowns and flushes pink before dropping his eyes from her.

“You must’ve inherited your looks from your father then, ey?” the man continues, looking her over. “To be honest, I always imagined you as a miniature version of Zelena all these years, but you’re about as different as chalk and cheese now, ain’t ya? I’d never have guessed you two were sisters if there’d been any other kids coming for the holidays, but there ain’t, so I figured it had to be you.”

Regina has no idea what to say to that, so she just shrugs and nods again. She does look like her dad - she has his thick, shiny black hair, dark brown eyes and olive skin, where her mother is fair with auburn hair, and Regina knows that the fact that she doesn’t resemble her in the slightest drives her mother crazy. Zelena, on the other hand, definitely looks like Cora, what, with her bright porcelain skin, dazzling blue eyes, freckles, and red hair - hell, even her nose and the curve of her jaw are similar to their mother. This is something which her half-sister takes particular pride it, never failing to remind them all of how much she looks like Cora whenever they are in the same room together.

“Well anyway,” the man continues, “I might as well make introductions. I’m Richmond Locksley, the groundskeeper here at Gardener Manor, and this here is my son, Robin.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she extends her hand, trying to make her mother proud, not sure what other sort of greeting she’s supposed to offer, but she is definitely not going to curtsy. That’s so weird.

Richmond Locksley shakes her hand firmly, then turns to his son and prompts him by clearing his throat.

“Wha’s happening,” Robin mumbles, averting his eyes as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

Regina’s not sure what else to say, he’s obviously embarrassed and she doesn’t want to make things worse for him, so she tries to depart with a, “Well… I’ll just be on my way, then,” to which Mr. Locksley seems to take great interest.

“Having a look around the place?” he asks, and when Regina nods, he gives her a coy smile. “You know, it’s awfully easy to get turned around in this big old place, and it just so happens that Robin here has been running these halls since he was just a lad. He knows all the ins and outs of the Manor, and he’s an _excellent_ tour guide.”

“Awe, dad, _c’mon_ ,” Robin interjects quietly, shuffling his feet, but his father talks over him.

“So, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind showing you around, especially considering you’ve never been here before, isn’t that right, son?”

“Really?” she perks up at that - she doesn’t know this boy but it really would be nice to have a friend while she’s trapped here. It doesn’t hurt that when Robin finally brings his head up long enough for her to get a decent look at him, she can’t help but notice that, well, he’s kinda cute. Even though his ears are still bright red.

“Uh…” he looks and sounds super nervous, so she smiles hopefully at him, and that seems to help because he mutters, “I s’pose, yeah, ya know.”

Robin shrugs his shoulders and glances at his father, who whispers something to him that Regina can’t hear, but which makes Robin scowl again. Then Mr. Locksley gives his son a little push in Regina’s direction, and Robin comes toward her reluctantly, not looking at her, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leads her off down the hallway.

While they are still within earshot of his father, he asks pointedly, “Uh, so, have you seen the conservatory?”

She hasn’t, and when she tells him as much, they continue on in the direction they originally started.

Robin is quiet at first, soft-spoken and seemingly shy as they walk side by side down the long hallways, and Regina feels incredibly awkward for putting him in a position that he clearly doesn’t want to be in.

Once they are several hallways away from the room Robin’s father was in, Regina pauses, unsure how much further the conservatory is, but doubtful it’s worth the effort. “Listen, you don’t need to come with me all the way to the conservatory if you have other stuff to do. I’m sure I can find my way just fine.”

He looks suspicious of her, but also a little relieved, and Regina’s hopes fall. Looks like she’s not going to have a friend after all. He opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted before he can say anything.

“There you are!”

Robin cringes at the same time Regina does, and they shoot each other confused looks. She knows of no real reasons why Robin might have that reaction, but since it’s Zelena who is interrupting them, she has a pretty good guess. Her sister looks pleased as punch as she marches down the hallway with purpose, and Regina immediately has a bad feeling about this.

“Sister, dear, I’ve been looking for you everywhere, you little scamp!” she grins as she approaches, completely ignoring Robin, who Regina notices has taken a step back from them.

“Well, congratulations, Detective. You found me,” Regina drawls.

Zelena narrows her eyes but launches into what she had obviously planned to say anyway. “I just wanted to tell you that you’ll have to amuse yourself for the next few days. Mother and I have massages scheduled for this afternoon, and tomorrow we’re going shopping and then to the symphony, and the following day we have mani-pedis, and after that…” She trails off, gives Regina a smug smile and finishes with, “Well, I won’t bore you with all the details, but you get the point.”

“Wait, I’m not invited to anything?” Regina frowns. It’s one thing to be left out once or twice, and extra hurtful to be excluded from the symphony, but from the sounds of it, she’s been left out of _everything_. So not only is she being robbed of her father and all of their traditions this Christmas, but she's being robbed of her mother too. What a bunch of crap.

“Now don’t pout little sister, you’re so much prettier when you smile,” Zelena gives her a big grin, as if to show her how much better smiling is. As if _her_ smile, specifically, is so much better. Regina rolls her eyes.

“So, what am I supposed to do the whole time I’m here? I don’t know anyone, Zelena, and besides Robin, there aren’t any other kids our age. What, I’m just supposed to sit in my room and die of boredom?”

Zelena’s smile widens. “That’s really not my problem,” she straightens her back and then she finally looks over at Robin, curling her lip in disdain. “But take my advice, _he’s_ not someone whose company you should keep anyway. Not if you value your reputation, that is.”

Robin glowers but says nothing.

Her sister’s condescension pisses Regina off, though, so she snaps, “Well, I’ve only known him for about ten minutes, but I can already tell you that his company is about a thousand times better than yours.”

Zelena makes a very offended “Uh!” glares hard at Regina and growls, “Fine! Suit yourself - you’ll see though. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” then promptly stomps off in the direction she came.

Regina and Robin stand together in silence for a moment, and she attempts to smooth her hair back, trying in vain to tuck the long flyaways into her ponytail.

“Sorry about her,” she tries. “Don’t take it personally. She’s always like that.”

“I know,” Robin shrugs.

Regina is glad that he’s aware of her sister’s attitude, though she still feels like shit that her family member treats him so poorly.

“Do you know her very well, then?” she asks, and he nods. “Are you guys friends - is that why you’re here?”

“God no,” he makes a face. “I’m only here because my dad is making me. Usually when the Gardeners throw a big party, he needs my help around the manor. Like when it snows or whatever I have to help him shovel and salt the drive and walking paths and stuff. So I’m just staying over in case he needs me. Otherwise I’d be as far away from her as possible. She’s got a mean streak a half a mile wide.” He seems to realize that what he said might have come off a little strong, because there’s a flash of guilt on his face, and he adds quickly, “Er, no offense.”

“Oh, none taken, I know what you mean,” Regina agrees. “She’s actually only my half-sister,” she tries to explain. “We have different dads, so we’re only half-related, if that makes it any better.”

Robin tips his head to the side and studies her.

“You know,” Regina continues, “Because she’s a total witch, and I just… I didn’t want you to think that everyone else in my family was that way. My father taught me better than that, so I hope that at least _I’m_ not like that.”

A small smile tips up his lips while his eyes sweep over her, and he bobs his head as his eyes crinkle and he says, “No, you’re definitely not.”

Regina breathes a deep sigh of relief. Thank god - there’s still hope - maybe they can still be friends.

“So…” she’s nervous again, “how about that conservatory, then?” God, she hopes he’s still willing to take her.

Robin ducks his head and gives her a little smirk, his blue eyes full of mischief as he glances up and down the hallway.

“Yeah, we can do that,” he says, “But what if…” he steps toward her and drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “instead of taking you to that boring old place, I took you someplace better to hang out? Someplace that’s really boss.”

Regina raises her eyebrows in curiosity, her interest definitely piqued, and he teases, “Unless you really wanted to see the conservatory, that is. Have you got some sort of keen interest in house plants, Regina?”

She laughs and shakes her head no.

“Alright then,” he nods, sweeps his eyes over her, gives her a little smile and asks, “But first, I have to ask - can you keep a secret?”

She looks him straight in the eyes. “Of course I can.”

“You’re sure?” he asks. “Will you swear to it?”

“Why?”

“Well I can’t very well go sharing secrets with you, especially my secret hangout, if you’re going to run off and show Zelena or something now, can I?” he reasons.

“I would _never_ ,” Regina insists, offended that he’d even suggest it. “I already share my mother with her, I’ll be damned before I share anything else.”

Robin smirks and nods, then asks, “Alright, what’ll you swear on then?”

She thinks for a minute, and she can only come up with one real thing to swear on, so she does. “I swear on my father’s grave.”

His expression turns _very_ serious, eyes widening in anguish, then he takes her hand in his and murmurs, “Oh, shit, my bad, I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t,” she looks down to where he’s holding her hand, as does he, and they just stare at their joined hands for a few seconds before he seems to realize what he’s done, and he promptly lets go.

She swallows and smooths her hair back. “Does, um, does that work, though? Will you show me now?”

Robin studies her, his brows pinched as he stares into her eyes for a long moment. She stares right back, confident in her promise - she has never broken the confidence of a friend, and she’s not about to start. For some reason, though, she doesn’t feel like that’s what he’s concerned about - she feels like he’s trying to read her - or rather, like he’s trying and succeeding; like he can see right into her thoughts, and it freaks her out. She’s about to nix the whole idea, but then he nods and says, “Yeah, definitely.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“You made me promise to keep your secrets, what about mine?”

He’s clearly taken by surprise, his brows furrowed adorably as he negotiates with her.

“It’s only fair, Robin,” she reasons. “If I have to swear, then you have to too.”

“That’s not true though - you already know I have secrets. What if you haven’t got any?” he challenges.

“Oh, I have plenty of secrets. Good ones.”

“That right?”

She tips her chin up and gives him a sly smile. “Mmhm.”

Robin narrows his eyes but it’s playful, he’s fighting his own smile and acting like he’s chewing it all over, but she has this feeling he’s going to cave, and she’s not wrong.

“Alright,” he nods, licking his lips and biting the bottom one. “I’ll swear to it - but only because you’re half-related to Zelena, so you must have _some_ secrets to share.”

She grins and raises an eyebrow in agreement, but doesn’t give him anything. “Fine. What’ll you swear on?”

He thinks it over and says, “I don’t have anything to swear on. But if I give you my word, will that work?”

“I don’t know, how much is your word worth?” That really doesn’t seem fair, considering the gravity of the promise she just made.

“Well, I’ve never gone back on it. Not once,” he says. “You can ask any of my mates. I might not have much, but I’ve got that, and when I give it, I mean it, no matter what.”

There’s something in the way he says it, the way he’s so, _so_ serious about his entire speech, that Regina can’t even think to deny him. She completely believes him, and what’s more, she thinks that _he_ believes what he’s saying too, which makes her even more confident in their promising.

“Okay. I agree.”

He smiles brightly at her, his eyes hopeful and happy, his shoulders lifting like she’s just taken a weight off of them, and for some reason she feels strangely accomplished. She feels like she’s just helped him with something, that by simply accepting his collateral of _taking his word_ somehow helped him, or healed him, or did _something_ good for him - but she has no idea what or why.

Their agreements firmly in place, they shake hands and start off down the hallway once more, the tension between them replaced with the excitement that precludes a new friendship.

They make their way down many twists and turns, moving swiftly along several corridors until they finally come to one that is clearly not traveled very often. It is cluttered with dusty old furniture that is stacked high on each side of it, a dumping ground for outdated chairs, end tables, and other household items, which are all haphazardly draped in sheets and plastic to protect them. They’re about half-way down the hallway, when Regina realizes that it’s a dead end.

She turns to Robin. “If this is the really _cool place_ that you were talking about, we definitely have different opinions of what that means,” she says dryly, pursing her lips and glancing around, not bothering to hide her disappointment. This was not at all what she was hoping for - she’d have rather visited the conservatory, actually.

Robin smirks and shakes his head. “Nah, don’t worry, I’ll show you in just a sec.”

Regina supposes she should feel nervous about being alone with a boy she just met, especially since they’re so far from everyone else at this point - the house is _gigantic_. But there’s something about Robin that puts her at ease. He just, he’s good inside, and somehow, without even knowing him, she knows she can trust him.

They get to the end of the hall, Robin reaches in his pocket, and his face falls. He checks the back pockets of his jeans, then the front pockets again, runs his hands through his hair and mumbles, _bugger_.

“What’s wrong?”

Robin grimaces. “I’ve uh, I’ve forgotten the key.”

“The key?”

“Yeah. There’s a secret door, just here,” he runs his fingers along the corner of the wall, then slides his hand over and slips his fingers beneath what looks like a completely normal spot of the wall. “This is the key hole,” he shows her, then leans back so she can see.

Regina steps up closer, but for the life of her, it just looks normal.

She stares, and stares, but no matter what, she can’t make out the little indent where he had slipped his fingers for the key hole. She is humiliatingly forced to concede, “I… I don’t see it.”

“S’alright,” he says quietly, stepping up behind her. Regina instantly becomes _very_ aware of him - of how close he is to her, of how warm his body heat feels right next to her, of how he smells of cedar. She straightens up a little as butterflies bounce all over in her stomach. “It’s tricky, but see here?” he asks, covering her hand with his and tracing the corner of the wall down, down, down. “Riiight there. Feel it?”

She definitely feels _something_ \- dizzy and excited and nervous all at once. But that’s not what he’s talking about, and she doesn’t feel anything at all beneath her fingertips.

“No,” she basically squeaks, shaking her head.

Robin chuckles quietly, his voice low and deep, and says, “This right here,” he worms one of his fingers between hers to show her, then slides hers over the spot where his was, and _Oh!_ she does feel that - it’s a weird lump, but when she puts pressure on it, it gives.

“Is it a button?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he tells her, leaning to the side, and now she can see his face. He’s grinning broadly and watching her expression, gauging her reactions, with his big, warm hand still on top of hers, and she finds that she likes it, likes what he’s doing very much. Robin has such a beautiful smile, with deep dimples and straight white teeth, and he has these piercing bright blue eyes, and all she can think is, god, he’s really, _really_ cute.

“Press that,” he instructs, so she does, “and slide your hand over, quickly now,” he guides her hand to where it needs to be and sure enough, her fingers curl into a dip in the wall. “It opens this little door here, and as long as you keep it open, it’ll stay unlocked, but if you let it close you’ve got to push the button again,” he tells her.

“So, what do we do now?” she asks, “Since we don’t have a key?”

Robin furrows his brow as he thinks and chews on his bottom lip. It draws her attention like a moth to a flame, and she finds herself staring at his lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they look. She’s kissed a few boys back home, not a lot of them, but she knows what she’s doing, and she wonders if English boys kiss the same way as American boys. She wonders if Robin has kissed very many girls, if he’d want to kiss _her_ , if maybe they should try it anyway, just so they can say they’ve had the _international experience_.

He looks up then and catches her staring. Regina blushes hotly and tries to pretend she wasn’t looking at his mouth, but he definitely saw her doing it, there’s no way he didn’t. Thankfully, he doesn’t call her out - instead, his own cheeks turn red and he asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have any pins in your hair, would you?”

Regina rolls her eyes and snickers. She _always_ has bobby pins in her hair. It’s the only way to keep it from flying all over the place. Her hair is freaking _huge_.

She reaches up and pulls two pins out of the top, letting her long bangs down, so now they’re sort of framing her face, and she hands them over to him. But Robin just stares at her for a few seconds, his eyes kind of wide, while he holds the pins out in front of him until she asks, “Well? Aren’t you gonna do something?” Then he jumps and turns back to where her fingers are still holding the secret door to the keyhole open.

He fiddles with the bobby pins for a really long time, twisting them this way and that, and honestly, Regina loses interest. She starts wandering up and down the hallway, checking out the old furniture, snooping through the drawers in some of the desks to see if there’s anything good inside, but she doesn’t find anything cool. Then even that gets boring so she gives up on it and wanders back to where she can hear Robin mumbling curse words to himself, still jiggling her bobby pins in the lock and trying to get his ‘hidden door’ open.

“Maybe we should come back another time,” she suggests, feeling kind of sorry for him. He’s trying really hard, but he doesn’t seem to be making any progress.

Robin shakes his head, “No, I think - _shit -_ I think I nearly have it.” Sounding embarrassed, he adds, “I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t know we were doing this or I would’ve had the bloody key. But I can get this open, I just need another second and -” there is a metallic clicking sound, and suddenly the edges of the door become clear, and with a little push from Robin, it swings open before them.

He turns to her, sweeping his hand through the door and looking more relieved than anything as he says with a _ridiculously_ proper English accent, “This way, milady.”

Regina grins and steps through the door, and _dang_ , this was definitely worth the wait.

“D’you know what this room is?” he asks her, hitting the light switch and closing the door behind them.

The room isn’t very large, but there are two well-worn, antique leather sofas, a handful of tables and chairs set up with long forgotten poker sets and decks of cards left on them, and on one wall, a huge bookcase is filled with various hardcovers. Artwork of men on horseback with rifles and hounds seems to be the preferred decor, and on another wall of the room there is a shelf that contains large glass bottles filled with different colored liquids. Next to that is a tall glass case, within which Regina can see there appears to be stacks of wooden boxes prominently displayed.

“Duh,” she bumps his shoulder with hers. “It’s where the old guys used to come to smoke and use _foul language_.” She flashes her eyes at him for drama and giggles at the ridiculousness of old people.

Robin laughs with her and nods, “That’s right, clever girl, it’s the cigar lounge. But nobody comes here anymore - they’ve all forgotten it exists, I think.” He raises his eyebrows at her and gives her a mischievous smile. “Told you this was better than the conservatory.”

Regina meets his smile with one of her own and eyes up the room. “Oh, this is _definitely_ cooler.”

* * *

“Truth or Dare?”

He’s thinking hard about it this time, she can tell - he must have learned his lesson after the last dare where she made him put ice cubes down his pants.

“Truth.”

They’ve ventured out of the cigar lounge for the moment - it’s late (or early, depending on how you look at it) enough that everyone has gone to bed, and as long as they keep it down Robin has assured her that there is little chance of them getting caught. Their game of truth or dare naturally led them to the kitchen for supplies, and so they’ve taken up residence on two barstools at the large granite island for a few turns, just in case they think up any other dares that might include things from the pantry or refrigerator.

“If you were going to get a tattoo, where would you get it?”

His eyes light up, and he pulls up the sleeve of his right arm.

“Here,” he shows her, drawing out an imaginary pattern on the inside of his forearm.

Regina tips her head and studies him. “What would it be?”

“Dunno,” he smiles, “Something brilliant, though. Something that means something.”

She can definitely see that - Robin doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to haphazardly tattoo himself. He’s a deep thinker, and while she can definitely imagine him with some ink, the concept of what that might be is elusive. Just from the little she’s gotten to know him over the past few days, she’s learned that honesty and keeping promises are important to him, so it makes sense that his potential tattoo would have a lot of sentiment behind it.

“Alright, your turn,” he smiles. “Truth or Dare?”

She did truth last time, so she opts for dare.

Robin smiles and goes to the refrigerator, and Regina’s heart pounds with anxiety.

“What’re you doing?”

“Preparing your dare,” he reaches inside and rustles around, pulls something out that she can’t see, then reaches into a nearby cabinet and takes out a glass. He comes back to her and sets the glass in front of her, then reveals the object in his hand.

It’s an egg.

“What…”

Robin cracks the egg on the side of the cup and lets the yoke slip into the glass, then throws the shell away. When he returns, he slides the glass in front of her and smiles deviously. “I dare you to eat this raw egg.”

“No way! That’s nasty!” she makes a face and pushes the glass back at him. “ _And_ that’s not safe, I can get salmonella from that!”

“The odds of that are like, one in a million,” he argues. “Besides, don’t tell me you’ve never eaten raw cookie dough.”

Well, he’s got her there. When she and her father used to bake cookies at Christmas, eating the cookie dough was the best part. But still, this is different. She’s never, _ever_ done anything like this before.

“It’s still gross,” she tries again. “Come on, I didn’t make you do anything like this.”

“So _far_ ,” he points out. “But my turn is next, innit? And then you can get me back however you’d like.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Course, if you’re too afraid to eat it, I suppose I could come up with something else. Something _easy_ , something much less scary _._ ”

He’s clearly baiting her, and she knows it, but it doesn’t mean it won’t work.

“I’m _not_ scared.”

“No? Prove it then.”

Regina narrows her eyes and wraps her fingers around the glass. She’s not really going to do this… is she?

“I can’t believe you’re so mean,” she grumbles, looking down at the slimy substance, trying not to imagine what it might taste like, what might feel like. Oh god.

“You don’t _have_ to do it,” Robin shrugs. “Your secrets are safe with me. No one else will know you weren’t capable of eating one measly raw egg.”

He doesn’t know it, but he’s just struck a nerve. It’s the one her mother strikes every time she tells her that the perfect ‘A’s’ she earns on her exams are _fine_ , or that her 99th percentile scores in every category of her SATs are _acceptable_. It’s the nerve that her mother sighs at as if Regina is boring her right to death, the one Cora pokes and prods and stretches whenever Regina stupidly starts to feel like she’s accomplished something, the one she pulls back and snaps as she looks down her nose and tells her, “Now, just imagine what you might be capable of if you’d only just apply yourself, Regina.”

And just like that, her mind is made up.

She stares at the egg for another few seconds, steeling herself in preparation for it, forcing her mind to go completely blank as she lifts the glass to her lips. When she raises it, she lifts her eyes to Robin’s and says hotly, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Then she throws the glass back, and swallows the raw egg in one go.

You would think she’s just won the lottery, with the racket Robin makes.

He jumps all over the place, whooping and cheering for her, waving his hands wildly, pulling at his hair, praising the life out of her like she’s just invented the wheel or something. He makes _such_ a big deal out of it that she can’t even spend any time thinking about how gross it was - instead he’s shoving a soda in her hand as he tells her how _bloody brilliant_ she is, how that was _flipping sick_ and how even his friends Will and John wouldn’t do it and that he can’t wait to tell them that _she_ did. By the time he’s calmed down, she’s blushing, grinning from ear to ear, and she can’t even really remember how nasty the whole thing was, because all she can think about is how _amazing_ he’s making her feel right now, and how freaking good it feels when someone says they’re proud of her.

The only problem is that Robin has made so much noise that after a few minutes they can clearly hear footsteps headed in their direction - obviously they have attracted the wrong kind of attention and if they don’t make a break for it, they’re going to be in big trouble. So they grab what they can - their cups of ice, a few random snacks, and the paper and markers they found on the counter, and Robin leads her out the back door of the kitchen into a lesser traveled hallway. Once they’ve confirmed the coast is clear in this direction, they take off at a dead run, not stopping until they’re all the way back, safe and sound inside the cigar lounge.

“Okay,” Regina laughs, panting. "It’s your turn, Truth or Dare.”

“Dare,” he grins.

She can’t come up with anything as gross as the Egg Dare, so instead, she dares him to let her draw whatever she wants, wherever she wants on him with _permanent marker._ He’s so laid back that he just grins and tells her to go for it, and she really, _really_ likes that about him. He is so easy to get along with, so carefree and happy-go-lucky; he’s her opposite in a lot of ways but it’s almost like a ying-yang thing. Robin brings out her softer side, makes her laugh and smile and feel carefree too, and it feels wonderful. _Freeing_. Regina wants that feeling to last, to go on forever and ever, so while she doodles with a black, fine-tip sharpie in the spot where he said he’d get his tattoo, she takes her next turn.

“Truth.”

It takes him awhile to come up with his question. By the time he has, she’s traced out a great big heart with an arrow through it, then on the inside of it she’s written the words, “Property of” with her initials R and M done in her best calligraphy, and she’s filling it in with a bunch of filigree when he finally comes up with, “What’s the furthest base you’ve gotten to, you know, uh, with a guy?”

Regina pauses in her sketching, her dark eyes sliding up to meet his from beneath her long, thick lashes. They’re facing each other on one of the big leather couches, their knees touching, Robin’s arm resting on her thigh as she draws on him, and suddenly the air feels warm and charged.

Half of her jet-black hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, but a few strands of her long bangs have escaped and drift down into her eyes when she shakes her head a little and says, “I… probably pretty average.” She can feel the redness in her cheeks as she blatantly avoids answering his question.

“What’s average?” he prompts, his free hand lifting to brush her hair out of her eyes for her.

A zing of excitement rushes through her at the simple touch, at his thoughtfulness, and she suddenly feels _super_ shy, feels like maybe she shouldn’t tell him the truth, like it might scare him off or something.

“What’s average here?” she tries.

“You can just tell me,” he says softly, “You don’t have to be embarrassed if you haven’t done anything. I know lots of girls who haven’t done anything.”

She cringes a little, blushes even harder, because that’s actually not the problem.

“I’ve done things,” she says quietly, considers lying but then figures it’s not worth it. He’s agreed to keep her secrets and really, she shouldn’t, _doesn’t,_ need his approval anyway. “I had a boyfriend up until a couple of months ago, Graham, and we… ran the bases… all the way. A couple of times.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” Robin sounds surprised, and in spite of her courage two seconds ago, Regina feels horribly embarrassed.

“What?” she snaps, not meaning it to come out _quite_ so annoyed, but unable to help it.

“Nothing,” he smiles, seemingly unaffected by her tone and offers, “I’ve only hit third base. How was the uh, homerun? As good as everyone says it is?”

She huffs out a deep breath and goes back to drawing on his arm, her cheeks positively on fire. “I… it was… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Robin hums, thinks for a few seconds then asks, “You said you _had_ a boyfriend? Does that mean you haven’t got one now?” There is this little lilt of hope in his voice that has her stopping her pen strokes again and looking up. God, he’s so cute. And _fun_. And maybe, just _maybe_ interested? Her stomach drops out and she fights down the trill of hope that runs up her spine.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend now. Graham broke up with me right after my dad died - he said he didn’t know how to deal with ‘all of that’.”

She starts to draw again but Robin’s hand comes over and lands carefully on her wrist, causing her to pause once more. “If he broke up with you, he was obviously a bloody fucking idiot,” he says quickly, sincerely, but then he blushes furiously and his eyes grow wide, and the next thing she knows he’s telling her, “Okay, my turn, and I pick Dare again.”

Regina puts the finishing touches on Robin’s ‘tattoo’, caps her marker and looks around the lounge.

“I dare you to smoke one of those cigars.”

He picks one out of the big glass case and puts on a little show for her - flicking it around between his fingers this way and that, acting like he’s a professional or something - but when it comes time to smoke it, that seems to be the extent of his abilities. He tries several times to get it going using the box of matches they found, but it’s extremely obvious that Robin isn’t a smoker, and in the end, it’s Regina who gets the stogie going.

“How d’you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as she puffs on it, the end glowing brightly before she hands it over to him.

“My father liked to smoke cigars,” she smiles fondly, thinking of him. “And my mother’s a social smoker - cigarettes though. So I’ve been around it enough to know how, and I’ve tried it a few times, though my mother would murder me if she knew that, or if she could ever get proof that it was me stealing her cigarettes,” she grins and leans back on the couch.

Robin laughs and takes a pull on the cigar, then promptly coughs most of the smoke back up.

She giggles and watches him struggle, but doesn’t give in. She hadn’t meant for this to be so hard for him, but being that he’s not used to it, it’s shaping up to be as difficult as the egg challenge was for her.

He’s only a few drags in though before he starts to look a little pale, and she knows what comes after that, so Regina calls the whole thing off.

“Hey, you know, it’s getting pretty late,” she stretches, and does her best to act like she’s not purposely giving him an out. “I should probably get going up to bed.”

He nods, but takes another drag on the cigar. “I’ll just finish this and be off then, too,” he tries to smile, but it looks like more of a grimace. He’s going to get sick if he keeps going.

“Let’s finish this another time,” she tries, “I’m too tired to tonight.”

“Nah, I can get through it, just give me five minutes,” he argues, taking another long, hard pull on the cigar, which sends him into a coughing fit.

Regina sees her opportunity and snatches the cigar out of his hand, then drops it in her former cup of ice, which has now melted into just water.

“Oiy!” Robin complains, “I wasn’t through with that!”

“Oh, you’re through,” Regina shakes her head. “You’re going to puke.”

“Am not.”

“Maybe not anymore. But you would have, if you’d kept going.”

“I…” he pauses, looks nothing short of _scared_ for a moment, and closes his eyes. After a few seconds he says, “Alright yeah. Maybe we’d better be off to bed.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He nods pathetically and they head out, Robin insisting on walking her back to her room as usual to make sure she doesn’t get caught, even though she can tell with every step they take that he’s obviously trying not to throw up.

Somehow, they make it back without getting caught, though it takes a long time, and just before she says goodnight, she remembers the one question she didn’t get to ask him during their game of truth or dare tonight.

“Robin,” she calls quietly as he ambles slowly away from her.

He pauses and turns, but looks for all the world like she’s slowly torturing him by making him stay another second.

“It’s just, earlier you asked if I had a boyfriend,” he nods, and she fights back her nervousness, forces herself to make the leap and just go for it. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

It’s the first smile she’s seen from him in a while, and when he holds her gaze and gives her a cheery, “Nope,” her heart jumps right into her throat.

Oh boy. What on earth has she gotten herself into?

* * *

It takes them a week before they get into the liquor.

Since they met, they’ve spent almost every minute together in the cigar lounge, thoroughly investigating every inch of it. It’s the perfect place to hang out - the soft leather couches are large and comfortable, perfect for sitting side by side as they trade CDs and swap headphones while they listen to music, or when they play cards, or when they talk for hours on end. Robin even stocked them up with a few snacks, so they have Fun Dip, Pixy Stix, and Shark Bites to munch on when they stay up late getting to know each other. Spending time with him has been the most fun Regina can remember having in forever. She hasn’t smiled or laughed this much since her dad died, she’s sure of it, not even with her friends at home. Robin simply makes her feel amazing - he’s so carefree and funny and nice, and he makes her forget that she’s lonely, makes her forget how sad she’s been, how much she’s been missing her dad this Christmas.

The alcohol is her idea, she’ll admit that - though if her mother finds out, she’s dead meat, because Cora’s temper is seriously wicked. Honestly though, it really doesn’t take much to convince Robin to join her, so she doesn’t feel too bad about it.

“Have you ever had…” she tips her head to the side to read the label, “Absinthe?”

“Nope,” he shrugs, standing just behind her and peering over her shoulder. “What d’you think makes it green?”

Regina grabs the bottle and inverts it, watching the way the strange green liquid sloshes against the glass. “Maybe it’s minty,” she guesses, “wanna find out?”

Robin smiles, but he hesitates in answering her, while his eyes search her face. “How old d’you have to be in America to drink spirits?” he asks, looking a little nervous.

“Spirits?”

“Ya know,” he nods at the bottle she’s holding, “whiskey, vodka, the like.”

“Oh,” Regina’s nervous now too. Maybe she misjudged him, maybe he’s not really a rulebreaker. Just because they’ve spent a few days running rampant through the mansion together, staying up ‘til all hours, and sneaking one cigar doesn’t mean he’s a “bad boy.” Maybe she’s just made their new friendship super awkward, because she’s bored as hell and this seemed like a fun way to liven up the eve of Christmas Eve, since everyone else turned in early and there’s literally nothing to do. For all the money Zelena’s snobby dad has, they _don’t_ have cable TV, just a bunch of movies to pick from, and anyway if it’s not MTV or TRL, Regina has zero interest in watching it.

Eventually, she informs Robin of the legal age to drink, “It’s twenty-one.”

“Bloody hell!” his eyes are wide with shock, “That’s _ages_ from now!”

“ _I know_ ,” Regina commiserates, then asks him, “What about here?”

“Eighteen,” he huffs out.

“Are… you old enough?” she asks tentatively, biting her lips.

Robin rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing pink as he admits, “Uh… well, I’m seventeen.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds in suspense, each waiting for the other person to say something definitive, then Robin shrugs. “Well, I’m still game if you are. It’s not like we’re going to go driving all over the countryside, running over old biddies in the streets, now are we?”

Regina giggles then smiles brightly at him in approval, and for some reason, he blushes again. God, he’s _so_ cute.

“Nope,” she agrees, “We’re perfectly contained. We’re just… just taste testing.”

Robin laughs and tugs the bottle out of her hand, then starts carefully twisting the cork. “Exactly. We wouldn’t want anyone to have a bad experience with… what the devil is this again?”

They find some dusty glasses hidden away beneath the bookcase, and Regina uses her sweater to clean them up as best she can. They each pour two fingers worth of the strange, green liquid and then, with a little clinking of glasses and a _Cheers_ from Robin, they take a drink.

It’s _disgusting_.

“Oh god!” Regina gasps, cringing, swallowing it down in spite of how badly she wants to spit it out. “It’s like, eww, it’s like the nastiest black jelly bean I have ever had! Yuck!”

Robin is apparently still holding the liquid in his mouth, panic in his eyes as they tear up, his lips pinched so tightly together that they’re white. After another second, he caves and spits it back into his cup.

“That’s fucking _awful!_ ” he coughs, gags, and wipes his tongue on his sleeve. “Agh! I’ve never had anything that tastes that bad.”

Regina shivers in disgust as Robin pours both of their glasses back into the bottle and re-corks it.

“That should come with a warning,” she complains, “How could anyone ever like the taste of that? It’s _sickening._ ”

“We need something else,” Robin suggests, still making faces, then wiping his tongue on his sleeve again as he heads back over to the liquor shelf. “We’ve gotta get this taste out, and _quick_.”

Regina nods, and he comes back with a bottle that has an amber colored liquid in it.

“How about this one?”

She reads off the label, “The Macallan Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, 25 Years Old…” she smacks her lips and drags her tongue across her teeth - _god, that absinthe was terrible._ “Well, it’s older than we are. That’s like, that’s supposed to be good, right?”

“Dunno,” Robin finally manages to smile, “But, there’s only one way to find out.”

* * *

Oh no.

Ohhhh nooo.

She’s drunk.

No, not just drunk. Regina is capital D-R-U-N-K drrrunk.

The symbols on the playing cards in her hand are super blurry, she’s warm - flushed - all over, and she can feel herself swaying a little back and forth where she’s sitting cross-legged across from Robin on the floor. There’s a pile of cards face up between them, and he’s smiling at her, sipping his scotch, and his eyes are _so blue,_ and his arms are _so muscly,_ and his smile is _so hot,_ and _oh god_ , she’s pretty sure it’s her turn and, and, and _shit_.

She can’t remember what game they’re playing.

Regina bursts out laughing and tips over, dropping her cards in front of her as she admits this to Robin, and he cracks up with her.

“I think we’re done with cards for the night, yeah?” he asks, flopping down on his back next to her. “I’m completely smashed.”

“You’re what?” she giggles, rolling onto her side to face him, reaching out and touching his chest. She’s not sure _why_ she’s touching his chest, but oooh, oooh, wait - he’s muscly here too - so she _keeps_ touching him. “What did you say?”

“I’m smashed,” he repeats, then laughs and clarifies, “You know, sloshed, plastered, off my trolley.”

“ _Off your trolley?!”_ she laughs hysterically at that, tears forming in her eyes, unable to handle the absurdity of his phrasing, and asks, “Oh my god do they have a trolley here? Can we ride it? I rode a trolley in San Francisco once, it was so much fun but my mother _hated_ it. My daddy didn’t though, he loved it. Robin, Robin, _Robin_ ,” she slaps her hand against his chest to get his attention, jostling his upper body until he turns his face to look at her. “Can we ride the trolley? Pleeease can we? Oh my god, oh my god it’ll be so much fun and I’ll be so good, I’ll hold on tight and I’ll use both hands and _everything_. I promise. _I promise._ ”

Robin covers her hand with his, gives her this sweet little smile and says, “Of course, darling, we’ll do anything you’d like.”

He doubles up and wheezes when she uses his chest as a springboard to push herself upright, but he gets up right behind her and takes her hand, weaving his fingers between hers, and the next thing she knows, they’re stumbling down the hallway together, laughing and shushing each other and doing their best to keep from falling down as they try to find the “trolley.”

* * *

They don’t find the trolley, but they do find the kitchen.

It’s chock full of food today - the fridge is packed to the brim with dishes that have been prepped for the big Christmas Eve meal that’s happening tomorrow, fresh ingredients stuffed into every nook and cranny. Robin raids the pantry while Regina’s shuffling through the fridge, and he comes up behind her, munching on nacho cheese Doritos, a box of Dunkaroos stuffed under one arm and a six pack of Squeeze-Its under the other.

“Anything good?” he asks, crunching loudly.

“Lots,” she shrugs, “Do you think they’d notice if a slice of this apple pie went missing?”

Robin hums, says thoughtfully, “Definitely,” and has a few more chips - _crunch-crunch-crunch._

Regina’s heart falls. Apple pie is her favorite, and it’s all she wants in the world right now.

“S’that what you’ve a taste for?” he mumbles around a mouth full of Doritos.

“Doesn’t matter,” she pouts. “You’re right, they’ll notice.” She starts to shut the door and Robin steps up next to her, a little sound of protest bubbling up from his throat.

Visibly swallowing down his food, he grabs for the handle of the fridge and tugs it back open.

“Hold on, gorgeous,” he murmurs sweetly, handing her the juice he’s carrying. A blush reddens Regina’s cheeks at his easy compliment, and she ducks her head, grinning as he says, “If it’s pie the lady wants, it’s pie the lady gets!”

He takes the pie from the fridge, and Regina starts to object. “Robin, no - they’ll notice, you said so yourself.”

“Right,” he admits, heading across the kitchen and opening a drawer to grab two forks. “They’ll notice a _piece_ missing, but the whole pie? With all this other food, maybe not.”

“We can’t!” she gasps, then starts to laugh, “Oh my god, you can’t steal the _whole_ pie, _you can’t!_ ”

“I already _have_ ,” he corrects, then smirks. “C’mon, let’s jet before we get caught.”

* * *

“Regina.”

“ _Regina_.”

She groans as her body is jostled roughly, a firm grip on her shoulder pulling her out of a black haze of unconsciousness. Opening her eyes, she sees white porcelain in front of her, and the bronze, antique feet of a clawed bathtub, and awareness settles over her.

“Regina Elizabeth. Get up this instant.”

Pain radiates across her skull, sharp, throbbing and relentless like she has never felt before, and Regina groans, squeezing her eyes shut and curling in on herself.

“I don’t know where you procured alcohol from, young lady,” Cora huffs, “let alone enough to drown yourself in, but don’t think for a second that this excuses you from today’s activities.”

Oh god, the room is spinning, and everything hurts _so much_. She’s shaking on the inside of her chest in this weird, sickly way, and she’s sweating but freezing at the same time, and oh - oh no - she’s going to throw up.

“ _Get up,_ ” Cora orders, just as Regina surges to her knees and empties her stomach into the toilet.

When she finally calms, she hears her mother muttering, “What in the world…” there is the clatter of metal across the tile floor. “… is this _pie?_ ”

Regina buries her face in her hands and prays the heavens will take her. She feels worse than death, like nails are being pounded into her head, her stomach rolling with unease and hands shaking violently. She’s never going to eat apples again, _oh god_.

“I’m going to ask you this once,” Cora drawls. “And if you tell me the truth, you’re going to be in a lot less trouble than if you lie or withhold the information from me, understand?”

All Regina can manage is a whimper - she already knows the question her mother is going to ask.

“Where did you get the alcohol, hm? Who gave it to you?”

She won’t lie, but she’d never turn Robin in for this.

“It’s my fault,” she confesses, her voice weak, but trying so hard not to cry. “I found it in,” she panics, knows she can’t tell her mother about the cigar lounge or she’ll never be able to go back. “In the kitchen.”

“Lies, I see,” Cora snaps. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to discuss your monumental stupidity, nor your punishment right now, as I am needed elsewhere,” she huffs, clearly irritated. “But I expect you showered, dressed, and downstairs in one hour, missy. If I have to come back up here and get you, it will _not_ be a pleasant experience.”

“What’s so different about that?” Regina mumbles before she can help herself, trying hard not to throw up again like she so badly wants to.

“Go ahead and test me, Regina,” Cora warns, her voice dropping to an angry growl. “You’ll not make a fool of this family under my watch. Your father might’ve let you get away with these things, but he’s not here to defend your foolishness now, and I expect you to conduct yourself with dignity and respect. You will be downstairs in one hour, or so help me God -”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Regina caves, her body trembling under the effects of her hangover. “Okay, you win. Can I please have some aspirin?” she begs pitifully.

“You can have aspirin when you make it downstairs,” Cora barks, then turns on her heel and _slams_ the bathroom door, followed quickly by Regina’s bedroom door, and the pain it elicits in her head causes her to throw up again.

Oh god, she’s never going to make it.

She opens her eyes and forces herself to sit back against the bathroom wall, taking in the picture her mother walked in on.

No wonder Cora’s pissed.

Regina’s still in her clothes from last night, her hair and makeup a complete mess, and apparently, she’d been using the floormat as a pillow while she cuddled with the half-eaten pie that she and Robin had stolen last night. There’s an empty cup from her whiskey that’s still sitting on the bathroom countertop, along with the remains of three partially drank Squeeze-It bottles, and her toothbrush is sitting there with toothpaste on it, though it’s obviously not been used. She doesn’t remember coming back to her bedroom last night, or why she might have decided to eat pie in the bathroom, of all places, but god, she’s in so much trouble she’d have probably been better off not coming back at all.

She hopes that Robin is in better shape than she is. This is the worst hangover she’s ever had by far, and she wouldn’t wish this feeling on her worst enemy.

Not even Zelena.

* * *

Christmas Eve is pure torture.

Cora spends the whole day bossing Regina around, making her completely miserable, forcing her to sit through the most boring dinner ever, even though she can’t eat it, because she’s so nauseous that even looking at the food makes her want to puke. Her hands don’t stop shaking until almost seven at night, and that’s only because she’s finally able to keep a little bit of water down, but her headache never goes away because her mother conveniently ‘forgot’ to bring her some aspirin for it. Worse still, Cora makes her stay downstairs until almost nine, even tries to force her to play those obnoxious party games like charades with a bunch of the other guests - Zelena is really in her element there, showing off for everyone and anyone who even looks in her direction - but Regina just scowls and tries to burrow into the cushions of the antique couch she’s curled up on, wishing she could disappear.

Eventually, in spite of her discomfort and the noisy activities around her, Regina starts to doze off, and one of the other guests finally takes pity on her, suggesting to Cora that perhaps she should turn in early. The second Cora starts to agree, Regina bolts. She doesn’t even care if her head is throbbing, or her stomach is empty, or she still feels like she’s poisoned and she kinda wants to die from it. She has to get away from everybody _now_ \- she needs to sleep so bad, needs the quiet - and if she doesn’t get it, she’s pretty sure she’s going to have a nervous breakdown. She makes her escape, with relative ease, and as far as she knows, her mother leaves her alone the rest of the night. She can’t be sure, because she passes out in her bed the second her head hits the pillow, but from the lack of yelling and threatening, Regina is pretty sure Cora must have had better things to do with her time.

* * *

Christmas Day comes quickly, and while her body has recovered from her little date night with the whiskey, today it’s Regina’s emotions that are taking a beating. It’s weird to be here, not just in England, but to be without her father, and it’s been pulling at her all day, putting her in a sour mood that only worsened when her mother handed her an envelope with a wad of cash for her Christmas present, instead of a single, thoughtful gift.

Regina’s grateful for the money, she is - she knows a lot of people don’t get anything for Christmas, knows how lucky she is to grow up in a family with means. But god, would it kill her mother to put two seconds of thought into Christmas just this once? Would it really be so hard to spend an hour or two with her youngest daughter on a day that used to mean so much to them? It’s the only day she used to actually see her mother smile and _sort of_ be happy, the only day Cora would lay off and kind of _try_ to be nice. To be honest, Regina had been looking forward to that, to seeing if she and her mother could start their own little tradition or something, but instead, she got an envelope and a clipped, “Dinner is at five,” before her mother had left her standing in her room by herself.

Since they arrived in England, Cora has been weirdly absent. Where she normally hovers and tries to control every tiny aspect of Regina’s life, she’s left Regina totally alone, completely ignored while she does whatever it is she’s doing with Zelena and her father, all while not bothering to invite Regina to any of it. If it hadn’t been for Robin, Regina literally would have spent the entire time by herself, so thank god she met him when she did. The whole situation is super weird, and Regina is suspicious and freaked out by it. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know what’s going on, and she really, _really_ doesn’t want to find out.

For most of the day, Regina stays in her room, too melancholy to even attempt to join the Christmas Day festivities, and too short-tempered to deal with her obnoxious sister. Even up here with her door closed, she can hear the occasional shriek of Zelena’s laughter, and it’s driving her crazy enough from this distance. She just knows that if she gets anywhere near her that they’re going to fight, and from the way her mother had looked at her this morning, she knows she’s definitely still in hot water for drinking. Since she still doesn’t know her punishment, she really can’t afford to get into more trouble right now.

Around seven in the evening there’s a soft knock at her bedroom door, and she sighs, knowing it’s likely Cora, on her way to deliver Regina’s sentencing. On her way to open the door, she manages to smirk just a little bit though, already picturing the irritated look her mother is going to give her when she sees her, knowing that her disheveled appearance is likely to horrify the woman who is always primped and preened as if she’s the Queen of England or something. Regina is not at all presentable for company; for several hours she’s been lounging in her bed in decidedly un-Christmassy clothes - a pair of big wool socks, pink flannel shorts and a black Smashing Pumpkins sweatshirt her choice for today. Her thick black hair is down and curling naturally from her earlier shower, falling in her eyes with the long layers bouncing around her shoulders, and she hasn’t bothered with any makeup because every now and then she starts crying when she thinks about her dad and all the things they used to do together at Christmas. It hasn’t been a very merry holiday for her so far - actually, it's been about the worst Christmas she can ever remember - and she doesn’t see the point in trying to hide it with makeup when no one is going to see her anyway.

She runs her fingers through her hair just as she swings the heavy wooden door open, well aware that her mother will see the red, puffy state of her face and is highly likely to comment on how bad she looks. But it’s not like Cora will care that she’s upset, it’s not like she’s going to be worried about Regina’s wellbeing. Regina scowls - no, her mother’s comment will have more to do with how ugly she looks than with what might be causing her to look that way.

But when her eyes connect with those of the person on the other side of the door, she’s pleasantly surprised.

“Robin?” she breathes, shocked to find him standing there, holding a plate of food in one hand, a box of Capri Suns in the other.

“Uh, hi,” he smiles, his cheeks going pink as his blue eyes sweep over her bare legs, then her sweatshirt, her hair, and finally her eyes. “You’ve been crying.” He doesn’t ask it, he states it, and his brow furrows in concern.

“Um…” Regina ducks her head to hide her eyes. Oh god, she really wishes she had that makeup on now. “What’re you doing here?”

“You weren’t at dinner,” he says quietly, shuffling his feet, “and I figured maybe it was in punishment or something, and I thought you might be hungry. You’re not still hungover, are you?”

“Of course not.” She’s touched by his thoughtfulness, but also a little offended. Regina has conquered a hangover before, though never as bad as it was yesterday. But it’s not like this is the first time she’s gotten drunk, and even if it had been, well, she wouldn’t admit it to Robin. She doesn’t want him to think she’s a goody-two-shoes.

“Oh, brilliant,” he shifts, and she looks up at him again, “Did uh, did you want to eat this then, or should I just shove off?”

Regina hesitates, chews on her bottom lip, then steps back and lets him slip into her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. She immediately retreats to her bathroom and wars with herself about putting some makeup on in an attempt to look a little nicer. She doesn’t want him to notice she’s put it on, but she doesn’t want to look like she doesn’t have any on either, so in the end she goes with some waterproof mascara and this shimmery strawberry-apple lip balm she likes, hoping it’s enough to distract him from the fact that she’s been crying. Then she finger combs her hair, trying in vain to tamp it down - it’s extra rebellious since she didn’t put any product in it and it just keeps curling back up every time she smooths it out. It looks even worse when she tries to put it up in a ponytail.

Eventually she’s forced to give up on her hair - if she’d known Robin was going to drop in on her she would have done things a lot differently. She’s feeling pretty embarrassed right now but there’s literally nothing else she can do about it and she’s already spent too much time hiding out in here. So she leaves it down and curling all over the place - he’s just going to have to deal with looking at her with ugly hair.

When she comes back, Robin has taken the soft fleece throw blanket off the foot of her bed and spread it out on the floor for them, the big plate of food in the center of it with two smaller plates - she has no idea where he was hiding those - on each side of it, creating a place setting for each of them. He has silverware and napkins laid out too, and he’s already put straws in their Capri Suns. His back is to her, and he’s thumbing through the thick CD binder on her bed, checking out her music, his head tipped to the side as he slowly turns the pages. As she watches him, Regina has this rush of butterflies that flies through her stomach and up through her chest, her heart pounding erratically at the incredibly thoughtful Christmas picnic he has set up for them.

For _her_.

No one has done such a nice thing for her - for _just_ her - since her father died, and it sort of shocks through her, makes her freeze up and just _stare_ for a minute.

How is he _so_ nice? So nice, and cute, and fun, _and_ sweet. God, she has _such_ a crush on him.

He turns when he hears her close the bathroom door and her breath catches as she looks him over. He’s in ripped jeans and a forest green hoodie, with just a plain white t-shirt underneath, his hair gelled and spiked perfectly into place, his dimples flashing at her as he smiles and says, “You’ve got decent taste in music, you know?”

She smirks. “I know.”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed this one?” he asks, pointing to her Garbage CD, and Regina’s eyebrows lift. “My dad’s got a CD burner and I’d like to make a copy before you go, if you don’t mind?”

“Really?” she asks, surprised. “You like Shirley Manson?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, carefully extracting the CD. “Did you know she’s from Edinburgh?” he smiles, giving the disc a little twirl around his fingers, “I like most kinds of music, but I like the rage in her voice, her anger at the world. I feel like she gets it, gets _me_ , you know?”

Regina fights the urge to swoon. That’s the exact same reason _she_ likes that band. She has all of these raging emotions inside of her, this pent-up raw energy that she doesn’t know how to let out. She’s so frustrated with her cold, selfish mother, so irritated with her cruel, jealous half-sister, so angry at her gone-much-too-soon father. Sometimes she thinks that music is the only thing she can relate to, it’s the only way she can express how she’s feeling inside without screaming her head off.

Robin has just told her that he feels this too, though, that he at least understands it, which means he sort of understands _her_. The butterflies rush through her again and she feels her face heat with a blush while she smiles shyly at him and says, "I know exactly what you mean."

They dive into the food he’s brought them after that. Apparently, Robin didn’t eat dinner either, so they share the big plate he’d piled high with just about every food Regina can think of - turkey, stuffing, dinner rolls, potatoes, different types of gross looking casseroles that he swears are _brilliant_ , and even a few desserts. When they’re done, she puts the dishes in the bathroom to worry about later, and then she and Robin stretch out across her bed, sorting through her CDs and pulling out other ones he’d like to borrow.

When her hair onyx-colored curls fall into her eyes for the millionth time, she huffs with annoyance, and she’s just about to get up to get one of her brightly colored scrunchies and an army of bobby pins to wrestle it into submission, when she feels Robin’s fingers brushing softly against her face, moving her hair out of the way for her. She freezes, her heart beating _fast_ , eyes widening in anticipation of _something_ , but what, she’s not quite sure yet.

He flops down on his back to look up at her, and skates the pads of his fingers lightly across her brow again before tucking the long strands back. When her hair obstinately springs out from behind her ear, he licks his lips and lazily starts to twist it around and around in his fingers, his eyes intense and focused on his own actions. After a few seconds his eyes slide to hers, and the bright blue of his irises is _so_ _pretty_ in the low lamplight of the bedroom, his smile warm and inviting, and his dimples are _so cute_ \- Regina accidentally sucks in a quick little breath when her gaze falls to his lips.

She really wants to kiss him. Or for _him_ to kiss _her_. Either way, she wants them to be kissing, like, a lot.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he pauses, his eyes searching her face for a second before he continues, that little smile still on his lips, “I really like your hair,” he says quietly, giving it a gentle tug. “It’s so soft…” he runs his fingers down it, staring intently as he continues, “so dark and pretty...”

“It’s a mess,” she argues, but her voice is quiet too and she doesn’t know why.

He shakes his head no, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he spreads his fingers and threads them lightly through the strands at her temple, “Nah, it’s not messy, it’s _bold_ ,” his eyes flick to hers, “ _Stunning_. Just like the rest of you.”

Regina blushes furiously, but she can’t look away from him. “I… I’m not.”

He tips his head as he studies her and buries his fingers a little deeper into her hair, leaning up on his other elbow so their faces are _much_ closer. “Oh, darling, yes you are,” he says softly, _convincingly_ , like he means every word.

Her stomach drops out and she licks her lips, then bites her bottom one, wanting _so much_ for him to close the space between them. He’s flirting with her, she’s pretty sure, but it feels different than when other boys have done it. She still has that rush of excitement, that anticipation zinging through her veins, but there’s this other feeling - a tightness in her chest, an intensity that she can’t shake, and it’s telling her this is _different_ , though she doesn’t know how, and she can’t figure out why.

A sharp knock at her bedroom door startles her, and her eyes widen in fear. There’s really only one person that can be at this time of night, and Regina _knows_ her mother is going to be _livid_ if she finds Robin in here with her.

“Regina,” Cora calls through the door, “I know you’re awake, open the door. We need to finish our discussion from yesterday.”

“Shit!” she whispers, jumping off the bed, “You gotta go,” she directs Robin, frantically looking around the room, as if a secret door will magically appear. “You have to get out of here. She can’t find you in here, Robin, she’ll _kill me_.”

“Regina, open up. _Now_ ,” Cora demands, jiggling the handle.

Panic streaks through Regina - she’s so screwed if she can’t get Robin out of here.

“Hide in the bathroom,” she rasps, pointing to the en suite.

“What if she needs it?” he argues, twisting up his face in disgust. “What then?”

“ _Regina_.” Her mother’s voice is angry now, sharp and direct. “Open. This. Door. Now.”

“Coming!” she calls, “Just, um, just hold on a second!”

“The balcony!” Robin whisper-exclaims, and Regina shushes him, glaring and already pushing him in that direction.

“Yes, okay, whatever!” she quickly agrees, following right behind him, one hand on his shoulder blade as she practically shoves him outside. Regina yanks the glass door shut behind him, nearly catching him in the nose with it when he unexpectedly turns to say something to her - but there’s no time, _no time!_ \- so she just throws him an apologetic, pleading look and closes it right in his face, throwing the latch as quietly as possible as her mother pounds on the bedroom door again. Regina jerks the heavy, floor length curtains closed, then bounds across large room to finally open the door for her mother, who is rightfully looking _very_ annoyed with her and the ridiculously long time it took her to let her in.

“What were you doing?” Cora asks slowly, _suspiciously_ , breezing right past Regina. Her sharp eyes take stock of the various CD’s sorted into little piles all over the bed, narrow at the fleece blanket still spread out on the floor, squint as she glances through the open bathroom door while she slowly prowls the room.

“I was just listening to some music,” Regina tells her. “That’s why I didn’t hear you at first.”

Cora purses her lips at her but can’t seem to poke any holes in her story yet, so she lets it slide. “Come and sit,” Cora moves to the far corner of the room that serves as a sitting area, and takes a seat in a large chair with her back to the balcony, then gestures to the other chair with a sweep of her hand.

Oh no.

If she sits in one of those chairs, Regina just knows her mother is going to start in on her, she’s going to dive into a lecture, and she really can’t handle that right now. Because not only does a ‘Queen Cora Lecture’ take _forever_ while she drones on and on about Regina’s failures as a human, a woman, _and_ as a Mills, all of which Regina is completely aware of (how could she forget with her mother constantly reminding her?) but Robin is on the balcony, and he’ll probably freeze to death before she’s done.

Regina tries to reason with her mother instead. “Can’t you just like, ground me or something?” She reaches for the nightstand next to her bed. “Here, take my Christmas money back,” she offers, hoping that will suffice.

Cora curls her lip. “Put that away,” she growls, straightening up in her chair and giving Regina a hard look. “I should have known you wouldn’t appreciate what you’ve been handed. You have never respected the circumstances you were born into. Not even your father could teach you how to be gracious.”

Tears burn in her eyes before she can stop them. That’s not at all what she meant by trying to give the money back. She _is_ grateful. She _is_ gracious. Daddy absolutely taught her that, which is exactly why she volunteered to give the money back. Swallowing thickly, Regina puts the envelope down and tries again.

She clears her throat. “You don’t need to give me a lecture this time, Mother. I know I screwed up, I know what I did and I know I deserve to be punished.”

“Of course you know what you’ve done, dear, you’re not ignorant. Foolish, naive, and easily manipulated, certainly. But ignorant, I think not.” Cora again directs her daughter to the other chair.

Regina thinks hard for a second, but she can come up with no other ideas, can see no other way around this, so she crosses the room and begrudgingly slumps into the empty chair. She might as well get this over with - the sooner it starts, the sooner it will be over, right?

And so the lecture begins.

* * *

By the time her mother is through re-hashing every tiny mistake Regina has made from birth up until now, she’s fallen into a state that’s somewhere between catatonic and asleep. And it’s too bad really, because in spite of what her mother thinks, she really does try to listen when Cora goes on like this - at least at first. She tries to take the advice her father once gave her of learning _just one thing_ that Cora is allegedly attempting to teach her with her never-ending tirades, but by the end of it, Regina always winds up feeling the same way - totally depressed, like she’s ruined every hope and dream her mother could have ever had for her, like she’s a loser who will never stand a chance at making her mother proud, and, well, like she’s just a complete fucking waste of space.

It sucks.

“Are you listening, Regina?” Cora snaps her fingers in front of her face to get her attention, and Regina realizes her mother must have repeated herself, in order for her to earn that tone.

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately… meekly… _submissively_. God, she hates her life. Hates _herself_.

Her mother is angry though, her voice rising as she continues, “You honestly don’t know how lucky you are. If it wasn’t still Christmas Day, I’d put you on the first plane home, you insolent, disgraceful brat.”

Regina grinds her teeth and clenches her hands tightly together, her nails biting into her skin, trying hard not to cry. She has held out this long, if she can make it a few more minutes, she won’t have to do it in front of her mother, and god, she knows she’s going to break anyway but she’d really, _really_ prefer to do it alone.

“I understand,” she whispers.

Cora sighs and rubs her temples as if this is such an annoyance to her. “I highly doubt that.”

Finally, her mother stands and walks smoothly to the bedroom door.

“For the remainder of the time we are here, you will not _dare_ to step out of line again,” she warns, her back straight as an iron rod, her chin tipped up, brown eyes piercing right through Regina’s as she stares at her across the room. “You will keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your attitude in check. I will decide the length and severity of your punishment based on your behavior from now until the time we return to New York. Do I make myself clear?”

Regina squeezes her eyes shut - _don’t-cry-don’t-cry-don’t-cry_ , “Yes, ma’am.”

“You will look at me when you speak,” Cora barks, and Regina’s head obediently pops up.

“Yes,” she corrects, her face flushing with humiliation, the hot tears pooling, her hands shaking hard with the effort to hold them back. “You’re very clear.”

“Fine,” Cora says dismissively, then raises an eyebrow and stalks to the nightstand by Regina’s bed, where she picks up the large iron key to her bedroom. She’s smug as she tells her, “I’ll be keeping this,” and Regina opens her mouth to protest, the traitorous tears finally spilling down her cheeks. Cora _can’t_ do this; she can’t take away her privacy. It’s not fair!

“But–”

A raise of her mother’s eyebrows has her snapping her mouth shut, knowing she can’t argue, that no matter what she does, she won’t get her way. Cora will never see reason.

“That’s what I thought,” Cora drawls, then runs her eyes over her daughter. “Now, it’s getting late, and to be honest, you look positively _haggard_ , dear. You really should get some rest, you know, you’re starting to look older than I am.”

With that, Cora leaves in an entirely undramatic fashion, just walks out the bedroom door like everything is completely normal; doesn’t bother to wish her daughter a Merry Christmas, or to even tell her she loves her. She just leaves her sitting on the other side of the room, feeling like a complete piece of shit for having one night of fun playing cards with a boy who stole her an apple pie for no other reason than because she wanted it.

A boy who calls her _darling_ , and brings her Christmas picnics, and plays with her hair. A boy with the sweetest smile, the absolute bluest eyes, and the nicest arms she’s ever seen. A boy who talks with her about all their favorite music, and shows her awesome secret rooms, and plays games with her for hours while they laugh and joke and tell stories.

A boy who thinks she’s _bold_ , and _stunning_. A boy who…

_Oh no!_

A boy who is probably frozen solid out on the balcony!

Regina leaps to her feet and rushes to the balcony, nearly rips the curtains down in her haste to throw them open and wrenches the big glass door open, instantly cringing under the blast of frigid air that greets her.

She finds Robin balled up against the wall, crouched down with the hem of his dark green hoodie tugged over his knees, his hood up and pulled tightly shut, his arms sucked in from the sleeves in an attempt to stay warm. He apparently doesn’t hear her because he doesn’t move at first, so she goes - or more like, _throws_ herself - at him with all the guilt she feels from stranding him outside in below freezing temperatures for nearly an hour.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” she gasps, getting to her knees in front of him and immediately wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Are you okay? Robin? Robin are you okay?”

He startles at her touch and jerks his head up, and Regina’s heart _aches_ with how hard he shivers beneath her hands.

“M’alright,” his teeth chatter as he gives her a little smile, his lips terribly pale. “She gone?”

“Yeah, _finally,_ ” she nods, but hot tears are running down her face at the obviously terrible state he’s in. Surely he’s hypothermic from having been out here for so long, possibly even frostbitten. Just when she didn’t think she could feel any worse about what a failure she is, she definitely does, because she’s the worst person _ever_ \- how could she let this happen to him? She’s a _monster._

“I’m so sorry,” she tries, helping him to his feet. “She wouldn’t leave, she kept lecturing me and I couldn’t get her to stop and –”

“Ee-easy, d-d-darling,” Robin shivers, “You d-d-don’t have to ‘splain.”

She ushers him inside but isn’t sure what to do to help him get warm, so she grabs the fleece blanket from the floor and wraps it around him, then starts rubbing his arms, his shoulders, his chest, trying somehow to help him stop shivering. She keeps telling him how sorry she is, but he just shakes his head and smiles at her as if it’s no big deal, while slowly, stiffly, slipping his arms back into his sleeves. He rolls his neck a few times, leaning into her touches, and takes a moment to study her face.

Regina stares back at him feeling lost, feeling helpless, and after a moment he cups her face with his frosty fingers and says sweetly, softly, “B-blimey, you’ve b-been crying again, h-haven’t you? _Fuck._ ”

Then he pulls her into a tight, albeit chilly, hug, and she completely falls apart in his arms.

She tucks her face into his neck, his cold skin shocking against her flushed, wet cheeks, and her body trembles as her pent-up emotions finally escape her tight rein. She clutches at his hoodie, fingers twisting the soft cotton in desperation, gasping _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , into his collarbone, but he just holds her tightly and shushes her, murmurs, “It’s a-alright,” and “I’ve got you.”

Despite the comfort he gives, Robin is _so cold_ against her, and she can’t handle it, she _will not_ stand for it, not when he’s so good to her, so nice. So without thinking she starts pulling him along with her, still clinging to him, crying a little and not bothering to explain herself as they move toward her bed. He comes along without protest until the back of her legs hit the mattress and she turns to push the CDs off to the side, then turns the thick blankets back and crawls in, tugging him in beside her by the hand.

“C’mon,” she tells him, her voice lower than usual, her emotions making her sound rough and raspy.

His eyes are as wide as saucers while he stares down at her, his frozen fingers tangled around hers, the fleece blanket still tucked around his shoulders. “Er…” he shivers, “I d-don’t think that’s a g-good idea, Rrregina…” he says, and his expression is the most serious she has ever seen it.

“Please let me help,” she immediately protests, leaning up and putting her other hand around his, so both of hers are wrapped tightly around his. “You’re freezing to death,” she reasons, “and I have an electric blanket, and _I’m_ warm. Please let me help, _please,_ Robin. This is all my fault and I’m so sorry and I don’t know what else to do - I’m not asking you to, you know, to _do_ anything. You know, if you don’t want to, that is. Not that _I_ want to. I mean, I want to it’s just that I’m not expecting you to want to, too. Um, wait, I…” she shuts her mouth and blushes furiously, runs a hand through her long dark hair and squeezes her eyes shut in humiliation. Oh shit. Did she just say that out loud? To _him_? Oh god!

“Alright,” he says quietly.

Regina’s eyes snap open.

“I’m b-b-bloody frozen,” he bends down and takes off his shoes without letting go of her hand. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.”

Robin strips off his hoodie and starts to get into bed, but a thought occurs to her, and she sits up suddenly and takes off her sweatshirt too, leaving her in her black tank top and shorts.

“You should take off your jeans, too,” she instructs, folding her sweatshirt neatly and dropping it off the edge of the other side of the bed.

“S-sorry?”

She’s reaching under the covers to pull off her thick socks and she can’t see his face, so she just repeats, “Your pants, take off your pants.”

“Are you gonna t-take off your pants?” he asks, and she whips her head around to look at him.

“No!”

“Oh,” he smirks, and she realizes he’s just messing with her. “I just f-figured if I hadda be in my underwear it w-would only be f-fair if you were in y-yours.”

“ _I_ don’t have hypothermia,” she huffs, butterflies bouncing all over in her stomach.

“You m-might catch it from m-me,” he shrugs, unbuckling his belt with shaking hands, then undoing the fly of his jeans. “Maybe you should be prepared, just in c-c-case.”

“It’s not like it’s the common cold,” she rolls her eyes, but can’t hide her smirk. “And if you don’t hurry it up, you’re going to be a human popsicle before you even make it over here.”

He chuckles, and when the dark gray waistband of his boxers comes into view, there are little snowmen in top hats all along it, and she nearly bursts out laughing, but then he starts to shimmy his jeans down, and her breath gets stuck in her chest. She’s _just barely_ not a virgin (yet another thing her mother would murder her for) but right now, looking at Robin, oh jesus, she sure feels like one.

“Regina,” he interrupts her thoughts, and her gaze jumps from his hips to his eyes. “You’re uh, you’re staring.”

She cringes and blushes and feels completely embarrassed, so she just lays down and closes her eyes, yanking the blankets way up high to cover her face.

The bed dips as he slides in next to her, and she rolls toward him a little, reaching out to brace against his chest as he gets situated under the warm, heavy blankets. They scoot up close to each other - it’s the closest they’ve been outside of the few hugs they’ve shared, and it feels different, _much_ different, incredibly _intimate,_ to be laying next to him in bed. She takes a deep, shuddering breath to try to calm the erratic beating of her heart, but her hands are shaking as hard as his, and it has nothing to do with a lack of body heat.

The only thing that saves her is that he is still quite literally, freezing. He’s shivering hard, his skin is _frigid_ against hers, and it sort of pulls her out of the little fantasy she almost created, has her leaping into action and pressing her warmth into him. She tangles her smaller limbs with his, encourages him to tuck his head down against her neck, and wraps her arms around his chest tightly as he settles against her. He smells so good, like cedar and soap, she can feel each of his deep breaths between shivers, and even though he’s bigger than her she feels a wave of protectiveness of him that she’s never felt for any of her other friends, and she wonders what that means.

When he asks her what happened with her mother, for the first time in her entire life she opens up about it and just tells him not only what happened, but also everything else that’s been troubling her. It’s as if he is the safest person in the world, as if he won’t judge her or think of her as the spoiled rotten brat that so many other people immediately assume she is, just because her last name is _Mills_. And it seems she’s right to do so, because he doesn’t make any nasty comments, he doesn’t tell her she’s awful for being angry at her father for dying, or heartless for not caring about a sister she didn’t even know she had until last year, or stupid because she _still_ doesn’t know what her mother wants from her, even after her thousandth torturously long lecture.

No, Robin just starts to rub little circles on her back as his shivers subside, and he nuzzles his nose against her neck when it starts to warm up, and by the time she’s done spilling her guts, his forehead is pressed to hers, their lips a breath apart. Then he’s telling her that her mother is _full of it_ \- that he’s never met anyone as incredible as she is, that she’s _beautiful_ \- inside and out - and he’s asking her, “Regina, how can I help?” and before she knows it, she’s pressing her lips to his in a slow, soft kiss.

He’s a good kisser, and she guessed he would be - he’s so cute and so thoughtful that she knew there was just no way he wouldn’t be. His lips are smooth, and thankfully warm against hers, skillfully pressing then pulling, and they trade a few careful, unrushed kisses before her heart starts pounding too hard and her nerves overwhelm her. Regina tips her chin down to try to catch her breath and opens her eyes, feeling a little embarrassed by her strong reaction to him, then notices Robin’s ears are bright red, and she reaches up automatically to touch them, worried they’re damaged from the cold. But his ears are hot under her fingertips, and she immediately grins - it seems he’s as excited and worked up as she is.

“What?” he smiles back at her, his fingers swirling over her lower back.

She licks her lips and looks shyly into his eyes, “Nothing. I, I really like you.”

“Well that’s a relief,” he smirks, squeezing her a little closer to him, “otherwise I might have had to feel a bit awkward about wanting to kiss you some more.”

Regina drops her head down and giggles, her fingers at his ear sliding down to curl around the side of his neck, where she lets them stay as they shift back a little to see each other better.

“I like you too,” he says quietly, rubbing her hip. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She smiles brightly and her pulse races. How is he _this_ sweet?

“I think about you a lot, too,” she confesses, chewing on her bottom lip. “You know, it’s weird, usually it takes me forever to make friends with someone I just met, but with you, it’s been really easy.”

“Same,” Robin nods, then quirks up one corner of his mouth, “but I suppose it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite a good kisser.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, blushing, “You didn’t know that until just now.”

He shakes his head in disagreement. “I knew it from the second I saw you.”

“Is that right?” she teases, “Is that why your ears were all red like this, that first time we met?”

A shadow falls over his face and Regina immediately regrets asking that question.

“I wish.”

She pauses, thinking about their first meeting and the irritated way his father was speaking to him. “What’re your parents like?”

“Sort of the opposite of yours, mostly,” he drops his eyes as he tells her this, his tone sad and sort of bitter sounding. “Where your mum thinks she has the right to control everything you do, my mum and dad simply forget I exist - until I screw up, that is. Then they’ve got all kinds of things to say about what a bloody idiot I am.”

“You’re not an idiot,” she corrects.

“You barely know me,” he gives her a wry smile, “You might want to save your judgement.”

“I _know_ you’re not an idiot,” she argues stubbornly, scooching impossibly closer to him, trying to be bold like he says she is by bumping the tip of his nose with hers. “Robin, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Just look at how you got us into the cigar lounge without even having a key. _And_ you beat me at cards at least as many times as I beat you, _and_ we’ve been sneaking around here for over a week and we haven’t been caught once - we haven’t even come close - and I know it’s because you’re always watching out for us. The fact that my mother has no idea that you and I have been hanging out every night is basically a miracle. So I might not have known you for very long, but I _know_ you’re not an idiot,” she repeats.

He runs his fingers up and down her back in long, soothing strokes and continues, “Well, regardless, my parents don’t really care what I’m on about, as long as I keep out of the way.”

For a moment, Regina fantasizes about how nice it might be if Cora stayed off her back. “If that’s really true, is it such a bad thing? It seems like it would be a relief.”

Robin’s hands go still against her back. “If I were better at keeping out of the way it might be,” he gives her a self-deprecating laugh, “but apparently, I’ve a bit of a knack for getting into trouble. Honestly, though, I’m not sure that being forgotten about is the better choice to being smothered, darling.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way, and while it might be tempting for her to wish she was ignored by Cora, she’s certainly missing her father’s presence, and Regina realizes that at least in some ways, Robin is probably right.

“You have a knack for trouble?”

He nods, wincing a little and clutching lightly at her back. She can tell, just by that small action that he’s anxious now, and maybe a little embarrassed, but she wants to know him, _all_ of him, not just the boy she met at Gardener Manor - she wants to know the _real_ Robin. So she asks him anyway.

“What kind?”

He shrugs, but when she frowns, he sighs, tangles his legs a little tighter with hers under the covers and apparently decides to tell her.

“Mostly trespassing. A couple of times I’ve gotten caught spray-painting graffiti on some buildings and signs downtown.” Regina nods - that doesn’t seem so bad - but then he adds, “Just before break I got caught stealing with some of my mates. It’s a bit more serious than any of the other trouble I’ve been in. That’s what’s got my dad’s knickers in a twist.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Dunno. Bored, I guess. My mum says it’s ‘cause I’m fucked up. She keeps trying to send me to therapy. But my dad says I just don’t appreciate what I have, that I’m a wally, content to spend my life just faffing around.”

Regina’s heart swells with understanding.

“My mother tells me that too,” she offers.

“Yeah but you don’t go getting into trouble over it now do you?” he huffs, looking down, clearly distancing himself but at the same time, his hands are comforting, one coming up to thread through her hair to play with the thick strands at her temple.

“Hey, I get into trouble,” she protests, giving him a little shove. “My mother literally just lectured me into a coma for what I did.”

He laughs, and his bright blue eyes reconnect with her dark brown. She can’t help but smile back at him - his dimples are deep and handsome, his smile is beautiful, his expression open and trusting in the lamplight, and in this moment, she thinks that he is nothing short of _perfect._

Robin tugs her tight up against his chest and grins, drops his eyes to her lips and says, “Oh yeah, darling,” he kisses her sweetly then teases, “you’re a real villain.”

* * *

“REGINA. ELIZABETH. MILLS. GET-AWAY-FROM-THAT-BOY-AND-OUT-OF-THAT-BED!”

She’s sitting up before she even opens her eyes, her mother’s furious shout _shocking_ her out of a dead sleep like the blaring of a fire alarm, but with _much_ more terrifying consequences.

Behind her, Robin falls right out of the other side of the bed with his surprise.

“UP!” Cora yells at her. “GET UP!”

But Regina can’t seem to function. She’s paralyzed with fear, with humiliation and this overwhelming sense of doom, and she has no idea what to do. So, she does _nothing_ , almost like if she doesn’t move, none of this is happening. If she just stays really, really still, maybe her mother won’t see her, like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. Maybe if she just doesn’t make any sudden movements she’ll survive.

She can sort of hear Robin moving around on the floor and muttering curse words to himself, _bugger_ and _fuck_ and _bloody hell,_ and she can’t really tell what he’s doing but she’s completely freaking out and has no idea what to do. But then her mother decides for her.

Cora crosses the room in a flash, grabs her by the bicep with a vice-like grip that is surely going to leave bruises, and drags her right out of bed. Regina’s not ready for it, is still in a daze, only half awake, really, but she comes wide awake as her knees slam against the hardwood of her bedroom floor with a sickening crack, unable to catch herself because her mother still has her arm wrenched up above her head. The blanket is tangled around her ankles and Regina flails awkwardly for a second, trying and finally succeeding in freeing herself of it, and when she looks back at her mother, it’s just in time to take the full force of an open hand slap to the side of her face.

“You terrible, _hateful_ girl!” Cora spits at her, pulls back and slaps her again. Scalding pain stings across Regina’s jaw, cheek, and temple, her eyes water, and when her mother hits her a third time, she’s helpless to stop herself from crying out _loudly_ , pathetically. “ _How_ _dare you?!”_ Cora screeches at her. “Just when I thought you couldn’t _possibly_ embarrass this family more, that maybe, just _maybe_ you could honor your father’s memory for _one night_ , you find yet _another_ way to make a fool of me.”

“I, I’m sorry?” Regina starts to cry, her face throbbing with heat and terrible, bruising pain. She’s never been slapped before, doesn’t even remember the last time her mother hit her; probably when she was still young enough to be spanked, but even that had been a rarity - her father usually intervened before things got that far.

“ _Not yet, you’re not_ ,” Cora growls, her teeth bared, face red, and eyes wide with rage. “But when I’m through with you, you will be.”

Cora moves toward her as if to strike her again, and Regina cringes, knowing she has no choice but to take her punishment - her mother is ruthless, and there is no escaping her wrath. But suddenly she’s jerked backward and out of the trajectory of her mother’s hand, pulled right across the floor by her armpits, and then Robin is standing in front of her, and he’s - _oh god,_ _oh no_ \- he’s trying to take on Cora himself.

“Stop!” he orders. “Stop it!”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” Cora yells. “Get out!”

Regina expects him to obey, expects him to run for the door at Cora’s command. She’s shocked when instead, Robin straightens up and steps right up to Cora as if she doesn’t scare him for a second. “You want to hurt someone?” he challenges. “Then have a go at me. This is my fault. I made her do it. I forced her to let me in here last night. She didn’t want to, begged me to leave and I wouldn’t.”

Regina can’t believe Robin is so brave. She’s seen grown men cower before her mother, but as he falsely takes the blame for their night together, he doesn’t appear to be afraid at all. She can tell from his body language that he is angry though, and when he turns and glances back at her she confirms from the look on his face that oh - oh shit - _he’s furious_.

“I said get out!” Cora repeats, but she’s losing steam; Regina can see it in the way her mother’s jaw isn’t clenched quite as tight, in the way her hands aren’t folded into fists anymore. It’s a rare occasion that anyone stands up to Cora, and her mother is clearly thrown off by it.

After a few seconds of stony silence, Robin shakes his head and says, “Fine, fine, I’ll go.” Then his tone changes, he sounds almost bored as he shrugs and says, “But before you go punishing Regina some more, you ought to know that nothing happened anyway. I kept trying, but your daughter’s a bloody prude. Wouldn’t even let me get to first base.”

Cora stares, outraged, at Robin for a long, intense moment, and Robin stares right back at her, completely unflinching. Then finally, _finally_ she says quietly, “Get. Out.”

He leaves then, doesn’t even spare Regina a parting glance; he just struts out of the room and leaves the door wide open. It’s quiet for a few seconds, just the sound of Regina’s shaking breaths as she tries to control her tears. Her face is throbbing, already swelling from the assault, but now that Robin has interfered, Cora seems to have lost her momentum, doesn’t appear to want to come after her again, and Regina is grateful for that.

Minutes pass, neither woman interrupting the silence, and Regina shoves herself up from the floor, moving to take a seat in one of the chairs on the far side of the room. She knows her mother has more to say, and if she is going to be forced to listen to another lecture, Regina refuses to cower on the floor like a dog for it.

After what feels like forever, Cora rubs her hands together, narrows her eyes, and clears her throat.

“You have twenty minutes to pack,” she snarls. “Whatever you don’t have packed by then, you will forfeit. You will be in the foyer in twenty-one minutes _exactly_ , or what just happened here will feel like a trip to the spa, understood?”

“Pack?!” Regina gasps. This can’t be happening. _NO. Please, no!_

“You can’t possibly think that after your behavior you should get to _stay_ ,” Cora’s tone is dripping with contempt. “This was a treat, a vacation that you have single-handedly ruined for me, your sister, and for yourself. So yes, I’m sending you home.”

“You’re sending me home? By myself?!” she squeaks. She has never flown on her own, let alone traveled _internationally_. The thought is terrifying. She’s only seventeen - what if something bad happens? What if she loses her passport, or she gets kidnapped, or she gets on the wrong plane and ends up in Timbuktu or something?!

“Why should I give up the rest of my trip because you are a self-centered, untrustworthy, slutty, little liar?”

The names her mother calls her are like a poison barb shot straight to her heart, and Regina’s chest spasms under the verbal assault.

“Mother wait,” Regina tries, “Robin and I, we didn’t even do anything. We just fell asleep. He was cold, and I–”

“Have I asked for your explanation?”

“But if you would just listen–”

“You’re wasting your time to pack, dear,” Cora tips her head. “The number of things you’re going to have to leave behind is growing by the second.”

“Please,” Regina pleads, “ _Please_ , mother. Just give me another chance.”

Cora laughs nastily and heads toward the door. “Regina, this _was_ your second chance. And now that we have established that you don’t deserve second chances, I’ll know better than to give you any in the future.” She checks her watch as she steps into the hallway, and throws over her shoulder as she goes, “Eighteen minutes.”

* * *

Regina doesn’t pack very much, actually.

She makes a blind grab for her clothes and sweeps her toiletries into her duffle bag as quickly as possible, but she leaves her magazines, books, and most of the other things she’d brought to entertain herself. She does, however, pack her portable CD player, but at the last second, instead of taking all of her albums she just grabs a few that she’s certain Robin won’t like. Then she throws the piles of CDs that she and Robin had sorted out back into the big leather binder with all the rest of them and zips it up. A check of the clock shows she has five minutes left before her mother comes looking for her, so she grabs her bag and her suitcase and makes a break for it, sprinting as fast as she can, her duffle banging against her back and knocking the wind out of her a little with each long stride.

She reaches the familiar, cluttered hallway in record time, but she has no way of getting into the cigar lounge without the key or Robin’s help, so she just leans the CD case against the wall, hoping he finds it before anybody else does. There’s no time to second guess her decision anyway - she only has two minutes left - so she races back toward the entrance of the manor, reaching it just as her watch ticks down the final seconds of her allotted time.

Cora is waiting for her with Zelena and her father standing just behind her, the three of them wearing matching looks of disdain as Regina skids to a stop, panting with exertion from her run, the side of her face that her mother slapped throbbing painfully with each beat of her elevated pulse.

“ _Jesus,_ Regina,” Cora scolds quietly, “Pull yourself together.”

She doesn’t know what comes over her - she feels like she’s outside of her body, watching in terror as a very confident, very _bold_ stranger snaps right back, “ _Jesus_ , Mother, it’s not like I can just stop breathing.”

Zelena’s eyes widen with shock, and Cora purses her lips, apparently unwilling to cause a scene in front of their hosts.

“Thank the Gardener’s for allowing you to visit their home, my dear,” Cora commands her with forced pleasantness.

Before she can help it, Regina rolls her eyes, but then she manages to snap out of it and forces a half-hearted, “Thank you,” just loud enough for Zelena and her father to hear.

 _What the hell is wrong with her?_ She never acts like this with her mother. She’s going to get herself killed at this rate.

As Cora makes up some excuse for why Regina has to leave so suddenly, she glances around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Robin. All she needs is two seconds with him to exchange phone numbers or email or home addresses - anything - to keep in touch. She can tell without asking that Zelena will never help her contact him. Her half-sister is smiling smugly, her arms crossed in victory, clearly the favorite daughter today, and she’s taking an enormous amount of pleasure in watching Regina get sent home right now.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if she could just see Robin one more time. It hurts so much to leave without saying goodbye, especially after he stood up for her, after he stopped her mother from hitting her, even if he didn’t have very nice things to say about their night cuddled up together. She doesn’t know if he meant what he said about her being a prude or not - she hopes not, hopes that he really did like her, but she tells herself that it doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that he’s been a good friend - a _great_ friend - and she feels guilty about not telling him that. About not thanking him for being so nice to her, for being so thoughtful and fun, and for making this entire trip amazing, if you cut out all the parts that involved her mother.

But he’s nowhere in sight.

“Go wait in the car,” Cora grabs her shoulder and gives her a shove, her fingers digging in harshly.

She goes without protest, looking around frantically for Robin the entire way, suddenly realizing that the last memory he’s going to have of her is watching her get her ass handed to her by her mother. She’s not naive, she knew this was a limited time thing with him, and it’s not like they could have had a long-distance relationship, it’s not like they could have continued to explore what they started here. But still, her cowering on the floor like a baby isn’t the impression she had hoped to leave him with.

The ride to the airport is tense and quiet. Regina had thought that her mother would have something to say to her about the whole ordeal, but she says nothing. When they arrive at the airport Cora drags her by the upper arm to the nearest ticketing desk, buys her a one-way ticket back to New York, then takes her to the security line.

“I will arrange a car to pick you up from the airport,” Cora tells her. “You are not to leave the house until I return on the third. Mrs. Lucas will be stopping by to make sure of it.”

“You’re not coming back until after New Year’s?” Regina tips her head in exasperation. “Mother, I, I've never been alone for that long. I’ve never done any of this by myself. I don’t know _how_ to do any of this!”

“Then you’ll just have to figure it out,” Cora snarls. “You got yourself into this situation, Regina,” she reminds, “I’m certainly not about to help you out of it.”

* * *

All in all, her trip back home isn’t nearly as scary as she thinks it’s going to be. It’s not like any of the movies she’s seen, with people running in circles throughout the airport, dropping their luggage and losing their tickets. Everything is pretty clearly marked, she finds her gate and her seat without any issues, and before she knows it, she’s touching down in New York.

She had a lot of time to think during her flight, and she started wondering about something her mother mentioned to her - about how she got herself into this situation, and how she can’t depend on Cora to help her. During her week home alone, Regina thinks constantly about that, and about how easily her mother ditched her when they were in England. She thinks about how lonely, how _angry_ she has felt since her father died, and how her mother has done _nothing_ to help her with that. She thinks about the way Cora just shipped her home instead of talking to her, how she doled out Regina’s sentencing without even considering that she had a valid explanation for her actions. She thinks about how this is _always_ how her mother handles things, and how, if nothing changes, these painful bruises on her face are likely not the last.

She hates to admit it but maybe her mother is right. Maybe Regina can’t, and maybe she _shouldn’t_ depend on her mother. Not now. Not _ever_.

She’s been plagued by this aching solitude for what feels like forever. When Henry Mills died, Regina didn’t just lose her dad, she lost her oldest friend and her wisest confidant. Her dad was the center of her world, and up until now, she hasn't figured out a way to adapt to a life without him. But during her time in England, she has to admit that she finally felt some relief from her grief and loneliness, and that relief came in the form of a sweet boy named Robin Locksley, who, for no apparent reason, spent over a week doing everything in his power to get her to smile, and talk, and laugh with him.

The way he treated her - with kindness, dignity, and respect - it helped her realize that even though her dad’s gone, maybe, just maybe, everything is still going to be okay. Maybe she can still be happy, maybe this isn't the end of the world, because maybe there are other ways to find happiness, other _people_ who can help her get through this life. It is obvious that her mother isn't one of them.

Thanks to this trip, Regina has found a strength in herself that she didn't know she had - it started when she swallowed down that raw egg and has been growing in her ever since, a fire fueled by her mother's selfish absence and unjust abuse. Regina has spent her entire life bowing down to her mother, doing everything she could to try to stay out of her way, to avoid her wrath, terrified of the consequences of one little mistake. But she can see now that it doesn't really matter. Cora doesn't care about her, that woman only cares about herself, and by being sent home for Christmas, Regina has just learned how disposable she is when she happens to get in her mother's way. It's a scary thought at first, to know her own mother could care so little about her, that she's basically just a burden. But now that Robin has shown her how easy it is to stand up to Cora, maybe someday Regina will find the courage to stand up to her, too. She's tired of being pushed around, and she's not a little girl anymore. She doesn't have to take this, not for much longer, anyway.

She didn’t get to say goodbye to Robin, but Regina hopes that that’s a good sign. That maybe it means she’ll get a chance to thank him for all of this someday, that she’ll see him again and she’ll get to tell him how he’s opened her eyes, how he's given her hope, and truly, how his sweet acts of kindness have completely changed her life. He's a nice boy, that Robin Locksley, and Regina feels lucky to have known him, even if their time together was epically short.

Who knows? Maybe she’ll see him again next Christmas.


	2. Part Two - 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1999 now, and nineteen-year-old Robin Locksley is working as a groundskeeper at Gardener Manor when the Mills women once again return for the Holiday break. Will Robin be able to regain Regina's friendship, after he accidentally made a mess of things the previous year? And if she does forgive him, will a posh girl like her even want to spend her time with a screw up like him?

_Two Years Later…_

** Christmas Break 1999 **

Robin shouldn’t be this bloody excited about seeing her again, but he can’t help it, can’t stop it, can’t quell this vibration in his chest, this anticipation that’s got him biting his nails and pacing the hallway. His heart is positively pounding, beating faster and faster every time he thinks about the fact that any minute now, Regina Mills is going to walk through the front door of Gardener Manor, walk back into his life once again, and _this_ time, _this_ year, he’s going to get things right.

Not like last year.

He’s thought a lot about what went wrong last year, about how he fucked things up, and he’s determined not to let it happen again. He knows what he did, what a fuckwit he was, how she must think he’s the most inconsiderate berk she’s ever met in her life. He’ll be lucky if she gives him two seconds of her time this year - that’s all she spared him last year, after what he said.

But he’s going to make it up to her this year. He is. If she’ll let him.

Robin’s helping out a bit more around the Manor this holiday season - old Marco isn’t able to lug around the guest’s suitcases anymore, his arthritis just won’t allow it, so Robin’s on luggage duty with another bloke named Keith. He’s a year older than Robin and a bit of a prat, one of those types who has taken on work with people like the Gardeners purely for the connections, clearly hoping that someday his little stint playing servant here will pay off for him. Robin’s tried to warn him, has tried telling him that the Gardeners don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves, but within minutes of meeting her, Keith had crawled so far up Zelena’s arse that he can’t see daylight anymore, and Robin promptly gave up on him. Soon enough, he’ll find out just what type of person Zelena is on his own - everyone does.

Ironically, it’s Zelena’s excited, tell-tale screeching that tips him off when the Mills women arrive, and Robin straightens up, fighting down a wave of nervousness that makes him feel as nauseous as the first cigar he smoked when he was seventeen. He smiles at the memory, at Regina’s challenge and then her thoughtfulness in trying to look after him, and he tries to think happy thoughts as he bounds outside to greet the girl he hasn’t seen in a year, but hasn’t stopped thinking about for two.

It’s all very hectic at first - a flurry of activity and people moving about - pulling suitcases, bags, overcoats and what have you, out of the car while Zelena prattles on loudly and Cora Mills barks directions at everyone - _Take this, carry that, no! Not like that! Be careful!_ But then Mrs. Mills and Zelena are being ushered inside by Jonathan Gardener himself, and Keith is laden with every single piece of Mrs. Mills’ luggage, stubbornly insisting that he can handle it all by himself. Robin is left standing at the car with Regina’s Coach duffle bag slung across his broad chest and her suitcase hefted up on his shoulder, watching and laughing heartily as Keith tries not to fall on his pompous arse under the weight of the five pieces of _very_ expensive, _very_ heavy luggage he’s toting. Robin would’ve been happy to help him with it, but no, Keith’s got to show off for everyone, got to show what a big, strong man he is, which he really, truly isn’t. Robin’s got him by a good four inches in height and at least thirty pounds of solid muscle, and he shakes his head and grins as he watches the other guy struggle - what a naive dickhead.

He turns back to the car then - up to this point he’s only caught a glimpse of Regina - a flash of her jet-black hair and what he thinks is a red wool peacoat, so different from what he’s seen her in the other times she’s arrived. Other times it’s been gaudy designer jackets, some pattern her mother clearly picked out to show off the brand - blue and red striped Tommy Hilfiger or gold Calvin Klein with the big CK all over it.

But not this time.

This time - _good bloody Christ in heaven_ \- this time she looks like she stepped right out of Buckingham Palace.

She _is_ wearing a posh red peacoat, long and fitted, with black buttons down the front of it. She’s got tailored, bootcut jeans underneath - _tight_ jeans - with black high-heeled boots, and her hair is down and shiny, _glossy_ in the winter sunlight. She’s wearing more makeup than he’s seen before, her eyes lined dark and lips bright red to match her coat; and from what he can see, she’s filled out too - all curves and soft edges now. She looks so grown up, so beautiful, so… Robin huffs out a hot breath, the white air crystals betray him, give away his amazement at how she could have possibly gotten any more attractive, when he already thought she was the most beautiful girl on Earth.

“Hey, Robin,” she says softly in that cute American accent, tucking her hair behind her ear. It stays put and he smiles. Since the day they met he’s watched her engage in an adorable battle with her hair, and it seems she’s finally tamed it - it makes his heart feel happy for her.

“Hey,” he shrugs. “You look, uh, uh, um -” the sun lights her face just so, her dark eyes brightening to this brilliant bronze color that sucks all the air right out of his lungs, and he stutters part way through his sentence.

She frowns, narrows her eyes, and ducks her head, then starts to walk toward the manor.

 _Shit_.

Robin trails after her, trying in vain to salvage their greeting. He _can’t_ fuck this up. He can’t. Not two years in a row. Not after last year’s, _Hey Regina, how are you?_ which, after setting eyes on the large, fresh scar that split her upper lip, he tragically followed up with, _Good god - what happened to your face?!_

He’ll never forgive himself for that.

Regina walks swiftly into the house, her back straight, head held high, and he finally recovers, says to her back, “You look great, Regina. I mean, wow, really, _really_ great.”

She doesn’t respond to that. Instead, she says, “Am I in the same room as usual?”

“Yup,” he speeds up to walk next to her, shifts her suitcase up higher on his shoulder. “How’ve you been? How’s your year at Uni going?”

“It’s fine.” She doesn’t elaborate further, doesn’t bother to ask him how _he_ is or what he’s been doing, and by the time they reach her room, he’s feeling like a right idiot.

Robin brings her bags inside and sets them down, a ball of anxiety swirling in his stomach with each second that passes. He tries again to engage her in conversation with, “Did uh, did you have a good flight?” to which she gives him a one-word answer of _yes_ , and then awkward silence proceeds to fill the room. Regina isn’t looking at him - in fact, she’s looking everywhere _but_ at him, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he panics and starts to leave, deciding that maybe it’d be better if he comes back later or something. This is obviously not going very well.

He pauses in the frame of her door on the way out though, leans his shoulder against it and studies her across the room for a moment. She has her back to him, is looking out the large glass doors that lead out onto the balcony, and he can’t help but to notice how different she seems from the girl in his memories. It becomes quite clear that he doesn’t know Regina anymore - and maybe he never really did - but for some reason, Robin honestly feels like he misses her, and he desperately wants to fix this, wants to be friends with her again. It’s just that he’s having trouble speaking - this always happens to him when she’s around, he gets tongue-tied, gets so bloody nervous - so he clears his throat once, _twice_ , in an attempt to chat her up one more time.

She beats him to the punch though.

“Oh, sorry,” she comes toward him quickly, her hands in her pockets, and when she reaches him, she holds out one hand. “Thank you for helping me with my bags.”

There is a pink, twenty-pound note pinched between her fingers.

Robin barks out a laugh, then sniffs, blinks quickly in shock.

“You’re having a laugh, right?” he rasps, disbelief thick in his tone as he takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pockets in a blatant show of protest. He can feel his ears burning, knows they’re bright red with his utter humiliation.

“No, I…” she pauses, “I just wanted to thank you for your services.” He manages to choke out a derisive laugh, and then he looks away, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush his entire face and neck. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she adds quietly, dropping her hand and pocketing the money.

“I’m not _upset_ ,” he snaps defensively, furrows his brow and looks back up at her. Robin runs his eyes all over her again - her expensive clothes, flawless makeup, the arrogant tilt of her chin. He sees her now, sees her for what she is. “I just didn’t realize you’d become Zelena’s _full_ sister since I last saw you,” he shrugs. “My bad.”

Her lips part and her eyes go all soft, and Robin can tell he’s made his point, that perhaps he’s even hurt her feelings, but he doesn’t really care right now. He might be an idiot who says all the wrong things, but she’s being a right bitch, trying to tip him like a servant, like he’s _the help_. She’s treating him like they didn’t spend every minute of an entire week and a half together once, like they didn’t spend one whole night curled up together right here in this bed, like he didn’t stop her barmy mother from beating her right into these floorboards. Like they didn’t share secrets and cigars and whiskey and CDs.

And what about all of those brilliant, ace kisses?

Didn’t that mean anything to her?

What the fuck?

He turns and storms out of the room, totally gutted, his temper hot and his pride thrashed to bits, and even though she calls his name, says, “Robin, wait!” he doesn’t.

He doesn’t wait, and he doesn’t look back. Why should he? Who is he kidding? He _is_ the help, he _is_ working here, he’s not a guest.

He’s a nobody, and he’s never been more aware of it than right now.

* * *

It starts snowing shortly after the Mills family arrives, so between hauling luggage for the dozen or so other guests who arrive at Gardener Manor and shoveling off the drive and main walking paths every so often, Robin is kept busy well past supper time. He’s just pulled off his thick gloves and is cringing at the state of his pruney fingers - his gloves have apparently gone to shit at the seams this year and allowed the melted snow to soak right through - when Jonathan Gardener strolls into the back foyer where he’s taking off his winter gear.

“Ah, Robin, there you are. Mind telling me when you were planning on getting the firewood up to the guest rooms? It’s nearly nine and people will be retiring for the evening soon. I expected you lads to have this done earlier.”

Robin tips his head. “Sorry?”

“The firewood for the guest rooms. You were supposed to split wood and stock the bins for each room. Didn’t Keith tell you?”

Robin shakes his head. This is the first he’s hearing about firewood.

Jonathan frowns. “Well, then you’d better get to it. I’ll not have my guests complaining of a chill on their first night here, young man. First impressions are important, and I’ll not have mine ruined over something as simple as a cold hearth, do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir,” he nods. His stomach is growling with hunger, and his shoulders are sore from shoveling snow and carrying luggage all day, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He has a job to do and he’s got to do it. With a heavy sigh, he tugs his boots and heavy parka back on, pulls his hat down over his ears, and resigns himself to the cold once more. There are a dozen guest rooms, which means there are a dozen bins for Robin to fill, and _that_ is a lot of firewood to split at half nine with your job on the line. He’s going to kill Keith when he sees him tomorrow - the dirty skiver went home several hours ago, complaining of a sore back. It hadn’t escaped Robin that the timing aligned with the arrival of the last house guest, or that somehow Keith had managed not to lift a single shovelful of snow all day, and now that Robin knows about the firewood, he’s certain Keith’s ‘sore back’ was just a way to get out of having to help with the rest of the chores tonight.

Robin trudges out to the woodshed and swings the axe until all the big, copper bins are full, too stubborn to quit early, even though by the time he’s done, his shoulders burn painfully, his arms shake with the strain, and his hands are cramped so badly that he can’t straighten them out anymore. It’s well after ten when he starts hauling the bins into the house and dropping them off at each room as quickly as possible. He feels like a muppet, finds himself apologizing for his late arrival, knows he probably looks and smells terrible but is unable to do a damned thing about it. He’s hungry, sweaty, and red-faced with exertion - is literally using the very last of his strength to do this before he crawls back to the little guest room he’s been given during his stay, where he’s sure he’ll collapse from sheer exhaustion the second he’s through the door.

He saves Regina’s firewood delivery for last, firstly because he’s angry with her, and secondly because he figures since she’s younger than everyone else that she’ll be awake longer anyway, so it’ll be less of an inconvenience for him to show up late. He’d rather get a nasty look from her than from someone like her mother, who might actually throw a fit about it to Jonathan, which will likely result in Robin losing several hours’ worth of pay. He knows how important Jonathan Gardener considers his reputation to be, and if a single guest so much as hints at being uncomfortable tonight, it won’t surprise Robin if he ends up not getting paid at all for doing the firewood.

He lugs the last bin down the hallway to Regina’s room and knocks on her door just after eleven, his arms, back and thighs aching with the weight of it. It’s not like he’s a wimp - right out of school he got a job in landscaping, and then he picked up a second job with his cousin, Will Scarlet, working for a moving company - so he’s used to doing quite a bit of physical labor every day. It’s just that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he’s done _a lot_ of heavy lifting today, thanks to Keith - the arse-licking lazy sod.

“Robin?” she says softly, her voice full of surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

“My apologies for the interruption at such a late hour, Miss Mills,” he repeats the phrasing he used eleven other times tonight, keeping his tone steady and even, his head ducked. He thought all day about their earlier interaction, and he’s decided that if she’s going to treat him like a second-rate blighter, then he’s determined not to treat her any differently from the other guests. He knows lots of people like her, knows how they operate, how they think, and how people like him don’t even show up on their radar. The best thing he can do is forget about her; forget they were ever anything more than acquaintances. “I have a delivery of wood for your hearth, if you please.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, come in.” She looks disappointed, and he has a flash of hope that he forces down. _Keep it together mate - don’t let her play you._

He takes the bin over to her fireplace and sets it down with a soft _clang_ , then quickly heads back to the door without looking at her. She’s in these elegant, dark purple, silky-looking pajamas tonight, and it’s distracting, incredibly different from the t-shirts and flannels he remembers her in. Her hair is so long, well past her shoulders, her skin smooth and golden in the lamplight, and he can’t look at her, he _can’t_ \- not without wanting all those things that twelve hours ago he was so sure he wanted, but now knows he’ll never have.

He’s almost out the door when she calls to him, “Wait, please,” and he isn’t going to stop, but then she asks, “I’m sorry to keep you, but could you, _would_ you show me how to make a fire?”

He turns back with a sigh and a resigned, “Yeah, uh, sure,” because he can’t exactly tell her no - that’s something that his boss would definitely give him a tongue lashing for - so he heads back to the hearth.

“Alright,” he gets to his knees on the cold stone floor before the fireplace and pulls out some scraps of wood for kindling, a few pieces of newspaper, and the long-stemmed lighter he needs to start things. “C’mere,” he beckons to her, and when she gets to the floor next to him, he shows her how to open the damper, how to build a little nest of wadded up newspaper and kindling pieces, how to set the smaller pieces of wood around it, and so forth.

“Then all you need to do, is to light it,” he finishes, holding the lighter out to her.

She takes the lighter from him, but she doesn’t do anything with it, and he’s tired, grouchy, and still hungry as hell, so he can’t quite stem his annoyance at her inaction. He reaches to take it back from her - if she knows how to smoke a cigar, he expects she should know how to work a bloody lighter - and he wills himself to be nice for just a bit longer, just long enough to show her how to use it.

Regina pulls away when he tries to take it from her, though, and he sits back on his heels, not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

“S’alright,” he digs down deep, tries to find the last of his patience. He assumes this is just typical, spoiled rich girl behavior - she doesn’t know how to do it, but is too proud to admit it. She’s more like her sister than he thought. “You just roll that bit there, and pull the trigger and-”

“I know how to work a lighter,” she interrupts hotly.

He frowns and bites back, “Well then why haven’t you got to it?”

“Because I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For, for the way I acted earlier.”

“S’fine, I get it,” he shrugs, not looking at her. “Why don’t you just light the papers here so I can be on my way?”

“Robin, come on,” she lowers the timbre of her voice, and now it’s got this desperate edge to it, this seriousness that pulls his gaze from the unlit firewood in front of him to her face. Her dark eyes are wide, pleading, and she’s so close to him that their knees are almost touching. He can smell her perfume or her lotion or _something_ , a soft scent of vanilla and lavender that’s invading his senses, making it hard to think. Her hair is in her eyes just a bit, her long bangs framing her face, and his fingers twitch, wanting more than anything to run through the soft strands, to tug, and stroke, and play with them, so he obstinately balls his hands into fists to stop from reaching for her.

 _Fuck,_ _she’s pretty. Why does she have to be so pretty?_

“I really didn’t mean to offend you. I’m not, I’m not sure how this works anymore,” she motions between them, then tucks her hair behind her ear.

“I am,” he grinds his teeth and nods resolutely, reaches for the lighter and takes it from her this time when she doesn’t shift it away. “You’re a guest, and I’m not.” He lights the newspapers and blows softly on them, encourages the little flames and smoke until the kindling takes off and the larger logs start to catch fire.

“Oh? It’s so simple, huh?” she asks, shifting so she’s turned more toward him, a sharp edge in her tone.

Robin shifts too, setting the lighter off to one side and leaning back on one hand. “Yeah. It’s pretty clear cut to me, and to be honest, you didn’t seem to be confused about it earlier today,” he hates this conversation, but figures they might as well get it over with.

“You know, you’re the one who made this awkward to begin with,” she huffs, her eyebrows scrunched, a scowl tipping the corners of her mouth down. “You’re the one who… who said that thing, last year.”

“I didn’t mean what you thought I meant,” he says quickly.

“ _What happened to your face_ is pretty easy to interpret,” she snaps.

“Believe me, I know that’s what I _said_ ,” he defends, unable to help his eyes from drifting down to the scar on her upper lip. “And I’m sorry for it, truly. You’ve no idea how much I regret it. But if you remember, the last time I had seen you, your mother had just, just, _Christ_ ,” he cringes, remembering the way her mother had slapped her, the awful sound it had made, the way Regina had cried. His heart hurts from it, his temper flares - he’s honestly just as upset by it today as he was the day it happened, “and when I saw you next, you had this scar, and I was so bloody scared for whatever had caused it that I didn’t stop to think about the way the words sounded. I just wanted to know what happened, because if she’d hurt you, if she’d done this,” he reaches for her without thinking and cups her face with both hands, strokes his thumb gently down the line that mars her lip, the lip he wants to kiss so, _so badly._

She takes in a deep breath beneath his hands, her chin tips up, and _Christ_ , he loses himself for a moment. His heart slams against his chest, he studies the plump curves of her mouth, thinks about the way her lips felt against his two years ago, how every kiss he’s shared since has seemed to pale in comparison. “I was so afraid for you, darling, and I...” he hears himself and balks, cuts himself off, knows he’s shared too much, is once again embarrassed by how attracted he is to her, by how _affected_ he is by her.

“I thought,” she squeezes her eyes shut but leans into his hands a bit. “That, you know, you thought it was, _I_ was… ugly.”

“I would never,” he says immediately, with every ounce of conviction he has in him. He smooths his palms across her cheeks, strokes his thumbs over the curve of her cheekbones, runs his calloused fingers down the length of her beautiful neck, then shifts his hands back up to cup her face again.

“Regina, I think you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “You’re even more beautiful now than you were when we met. I can’t tell you how much that I want,” he catches himself acting like a lovesick fool again and tries to correct, “that I _wanted…_ ”

_Fuck, what is wrong with him?_

He pulls his hands from her, shakes his head and looks heavenward. The fire crackles loudly in front of him, warms his face, and he remembers what he was doing in her room, that he’s not here because she invited him, but because he has a job to do. “Sorry, I, I’m way out of line. Forget I said any of that.”

He shoves himself up onto his feet, runs his fingers through his hair, and blames exhaustion for his inability to control his stupid mouth and his even stupider emotions. He makes for the bedroom door but Regina trails him, then surprises him, reaches out and grabs his hand, tugs him back to her before he can escape.

Robin doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand what she wants from him.

“I’m really glad to be here the whole time this year,” she rubs her thumb across the back of his hand soothingly, sweetly. Last year she’d only been here for a day - Mrs. Mills and Jonathan had taken their daughters on a trek across Europe for the holidays, so Robin had only seen Regina long enough to make a mess of things. His heart stutters as a new wave of hope zings through him - his cheeks flush, his stomach drops out - but then she adds, “I’m so excited to get to spend time with… everyone.”

And just like that, his hopes are dashed.

She’s excited to spend time with _everyone_. Not with him - with _everyone._ For what feels like the thousandth time today, he reminds himself that he’s not included when she says ‘everyone’ - he’s not a guest at Gardener Manor, he’s not part of upper-class society. He will never fit in with the social circles she’s a part of, not with his criminal record and lack of college education - Regina’s so far out of his league he’s surprised she hasn’t gotten a nosebleed yet from looking so far down just to see him.

He stares at her for a long minute, fighting to keep his composure, before he finally gathers himself and responds.

“Right,” he frowns, pulls his hand away and feels like a total loser. “Well, I hope uh, hope you have a smashing time catching up with _everyone_.” He tries to smile, knows he fails at it and backs into the hallway, “You can ask for me, or a bloke named Keith if you have any special requests.”

She gives him this heartbroken look then - like it has just occurred to her that they’re not actually on the same page, or that he’s not falling for whatever strange game she’s trying to play with him, and she steps toward him.

“I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” he says quickly. “And don’t worry, Miss Mills, I don’t expect a tip for tonight, or actually, for any _services_ I might provide. It’s a pleasure just having you stay with us again.” He gives her a knowing look, shakes his head, then retreats down the hall before she can say anything else.

* * *

There’s no way she’s burning through all that firewood this fast.

Unless Regina has spent all seventy-two hours of the past three days in her room, throwing logs on the fire in rapid succession, it’s just not possible. He knows she hasn’t, because he’s seen her out and about - taking long walks in the snow, or reading in the library, or sometimes doing things with Zelena or with her Mother, so he knows she hasn’t been holed up in there. Plus, the amount of ash he’s been scooping out just doesn’t add up, so he knows she’s getting rid of the wood somehow - she’s not fooling him - but he can’t figure out where it’s going, and he can’t _not_ deliver her more when she doesn’t have any.

She’s making things especially difficult for him, though, specifically requests _him_ to bring her more firewood every evening, at precisely a quarter to nine, because her copper bin has mysteriously gone empty and she needs it filled so she doesn’t _catch a chill_ overnight. He doesn’t know _how_ she found out that he’s supposed to be totally off work by nine, so technically she’s not holding him up, but she’s effectively got him trapped for the last few minutes of his shift, which means each evening when she starts trying to chat him up, he has no excuses to give for why he needs to be elsewhere. It’s a fact that she cheekily pointed out after the very first delivery when he’d tried to make a quick exit, and then she’d grilled him on if he’d seen any good movies recently, and if he’d guessed the ending of The Sixth Sense like she did, which she’d grinned approvingly at him for, when he admitted that he had.

She’s toying with him, and he has no idea why.

Yesterday she’d asked him what music he’s been listening to - a simple enough question that he thought he could play off by confirming that he was still into a bunch of the stuff they used to listen to. But then she’d somehow gotten him to admit to interests in the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Goo Goo Dolls, and the Cranberries, and the next thing he knew, she was shoving her albums for KoRn, No Doubt, Beck, and Alanis Morrisette, just to name a few, into his hands and telling him how much he’d like these bands too. For a few minutes, it was just like old times - they’d talked, and shared, and smiled together - everything seemed so easy. She was so similar to that seventeen-year-old girl he used to know that he’d very nearly fallen into the trap she’d set for him when she’d run her fingers down his arm, curled them around his bicep, and told him how she thinks of him every time she hears Shirley Manson on the radio. In fact, he _did_ fall into the trap - he’d licked his lips and told her he thinks about her too whenever he listens to that well-worn Garbage album, then he’d just barely caught himself gazing deeply into her pretty brown eyes, and at the last second he’d stumbled away from her like a love-drunk fool.

Robin is becoming more and more suspicious of her with each visit. He thinks she knows what her touches do to him, thinks she knows how even the slightest contact throws him off his game, breaks his concentration, turns him into a blundering pillock. He thinks this because with each visit Regina seems to be doing it more and more - a slight brush of her fingers evolving into a squeeze of his hand, then into the stroke of her fingers down the entire length of his arm or the rub of his shoulder, and he can’t seem to discourage her.

Can’t stop himself from wanting it either.

And he can’t stop staring at her. She’s so beautiful, has _always_ been perfection, but it’s like she’s amplified by the firelight, it’s like because he’s not _supposed_ to look, or touch, or want anything to do with her, that she’s even more tempting to him. He doesn’t know how she’s managed to smooth her thick, jet-black hair into submission but it’s incredibly silky now, falling in tresses that swish lightly when she moves, slipping and sliding over her shoulders when she turns her head to the side, or leans forward slightly. He aches to touch it, to feel it between his fingers or against his face. _Christ_ , he’d give just about anything to be allowed to press his lips to the side of her neck, bury his nose in her hair and just inhale.

He’s a lovesick fool, a fucking twit, and he’s got to stop this infatuation with her. He’s got to stop it now, _tonight_ , before he does something stupid, like forget his place, or forget _hers_.

He brings her the firewood as usual, but almost immediately he meets his first challenge of the evening. It was snowing again today - _all_ day - so he’s been shoveling constantly, and his hands have taken a beating for it, are bright red, chapped and thoroughly blistered thanks to his shoddy gloves.

Regina notices immediately - she’s super observant, always has been - and she reaches for him before he can pull away and says, “Oh my god, what happened?”

He shrugs, tells her, “Nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing,” she insists, running her fingers lightly all over his hands, then pulling him across the room to the lamp beside her bed so she can inspect him in the light. “Robin, your hands are, oh my god. Wait right here.”

She disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a bottle of lotion and a small first aid kit, which she flips open and sets on the bed.

“Sit,” she orders.

“Uh, that’s alright, really, I’m fine,” he tries, but he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with, and she has the audacity to simply glare at him, her dark eyes piercing right through his until he obeys, sinking down onto the mattress without another word.

Sitting next to him on the bed, Regina takes her time and carefully applies antibiotic ointment and bandages to the open blisters on each of his fingers, and across his palms, her brows pinched in concentration and concern. He takes the opportunity to explain that his defective gloves had allowed his hands to get wet, which made his skin soft and allowed it to tear more than it should have, but by the time he’d figured that out and pulled the gloves off, the damage had already been done. Then the wind had chapped his bare hands the rest of the time he shoveled, since he’d been unable to wear the wet gloves, so he’d basically been caught between a rock and a hard place.

She frowns the whole time he talks, her soft, warm hands working gently over his, finishing with the bandages then smoothing a thick, creamy lotion into his exposed, red, roughened skin. She rubs it in slowly, deliberately, and it feels more like a hand massage than her just sharing her lotion, but it feels wonderful and he keeps his mouth firmly shut about it. He can smell the lavender in the cream, and he can’t help but smile a bit - now he knows why her hands are so soft, _and_ why she smells so good.

She coats the entirety of his left hand with the lotion, then moves to his right, then goes back to the left and starts smoothing her fingers over it again.

“Does that feel better?” she asks quietly, still rubbing slowly, swirling her thumbs along the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” his voice is rough, gravelly. “Feels good.”

“Mmhmm,” she nods, parts her lips and sighs.

It’s meant to be nothing, he’s sure, it’s just a breath, but it’s almost like she thinks it feels good too, like she’s _agreeing_ with what he said, and it turns him on, makes him think inappropriate thoughts about how good her hands feel on him, about how good they’d feel rubbing _other_ things. _Fuck._

Regina is in a black turtleneck tonight and gray, wide leg slacks that make her arse look ace, with this shiny black belt across her middle and pearls in her ears. She looks like she’s stepped out of a recent issue of a Ralph Lauren magazine, and he clings to that thought in an attempt to ground himself, focuses all of his attention on the differences between them. It’s comical, if you think about it, really - the fact that she’s so posh, and the jeans he’s got on are one of the _two_ whole pairs he owns, and that his t-shirt came from a sack that had four identical shirts in it, which he buys in the clothing section of the supermarket, and that his navy blue hoodie is one that he’s borrowing from his mate John, because the bloke has put on quite a bit of weight recently and can’t fit into it anymore. His trainers are at least two years old, have holes in the soles and are too small in the toes but he hasn’t had the time or the money to buy new ones, but hey, at least his underwear are relatively new.

When Regina’s hands venture from his, moving up to encircle his left wrist, where she starts to rub softly, Robin’s chain of thought shatters, and he gets sucked right back into the moment he was so desperately trying to stay out of. God, that feels good. Feels bloody, fucking fantastic. He swallows thickly and the saliva clicks in his throat, he watches her hands move and flex as she kneads the muscles of his wrist, her nails shiny and perfectly manicured, and when his jeans start to feel a bit snug, he has to bite his lip to keep from cursing out loud. _Shit._

“You uh, you should probably stop doing that,” he rasps, his tongue feels thick between his teeth.

She doesn’t stop, but she does slow down, and she does bring her big brown eyes up to meet his.

“Why?”

“Uh, I-uh…” her eyes are stunning, and his mind goes blank.

Regina smirks and drops her eyes to watch what she’s doing as she continues to massage his wrist. After a few seconds she grows bolder though, and she shifts the sleeve of his hoodie up a bit, starts working her thumbs along the sore, tired muscles of his forearm. Her hands feel incredible on his overworked muscles, and he closes his eyes, groans quietly in pleasure, and presses into her touch.

She massages her way all the way up to his elbow before he reopens his eyes, and - _oh fuck_ \- when he does, their faces are so _close_. Her eyes meet his, and he automatically leans in further, his free hand coming up to cup the side of her neck - _Christ_ she’s so soft, so warm under his fingertips. His heart is jackhammering with anticipation, wonder, and excitement - he can’t believe she’s so close to him, that this is happening - _is this really happening?_ He shifts a bit closer, the mattress dips between them and their knees bump, and he’s close enough now to brush the tip of his nose against hers. She sucks in this cute, high-pitched little breath when he does it - _fuck_ , it’s been so long since he’s heard her make any sort of noise like that, and he loves it, he vividly remembers every excited, sweet sound of approval she made that night she let him kiss her - then she nudges his nose back with hers - _oh fuck yes yes yes_ \- and he’s going to kiss her - _finally_ , _thank god_ – but the clatter of the first aid kit falling to the floor startles them both, and Robin jumps to his feet, then immediately moves to the other side of the room.

_What the bloody hell is he doing?!_

He’s breathing hard, is so confused and has no idea what just happened. This is _not_ what he intended to do here tonight. Not at all. In fact, it’s the total opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s supposed to be separating himself, putting an end to all this, getting away from her and making it clear that they can’t be anything other than what she so rightfully made them out to be on the very first day she showed up this year. Their lives are too different, they’re not right together, they can’t work - not even to be friends.

Kissing Regina would definitely be a mistake.

He glances across the room and loses his breath just looking at her - _god she’s fit_ \- and he wonders, _but really, what would one kiss hurt?_

Robin shakes his head and takes a few deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out.

No. He’s got to be strong. He can do this. Steady now.

He takes another deep breath and heads over to the copper bin with the firewood in it, and pulls out the leather CD case he had stashed in it before he came up. Regina stands and starts toward him, her cheeks flushed, hair in her eyes and looking all gorgeous, looking _sexy as hell_ and like she’s about to say something, but when she sees what he’s holding, she pales, and her mouth snaps shut. All his good intentions fly right out the window the second he tries to hand her the binder full of CDs she’d left him two years ago, too, because this shocked look flashes across her face like lightning before she schools her expression back into perfect, practiced stoicism, her body language totally changes from welcoming to completely closed off, and a legitimate chill scurries down the length of his spine in reaction to her total change in demeanor. _Fuck._

“I left that here for you,” she says evenly, not taking the thick, heavy binder he is holding out to her.

“Well you’re back now,” he reasons, “I got to thinking, yesterday, after you asked me about what I’d been listening to, and, well, these are yours and you ought to have them back. They don’t belong to me.”

“Yes they do,” he watches her jaw tense, her eyes harden, can see the way she forces herself to swallow before she continues, “I gave them to you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You left them because you had to. I heard Zelena talking about how you only had twenty minutes to pack. I know you didn’t have time to take everything.”

“ _No,_ ” she straightens her shoulders, tips her chin up. “I left them on purpose.”

“Regina, you don’t have to make up excuses,” he tries. “I don’t mind giving them back. They’re yours, and I _want_ you to have them back.”

“I’m _not_ making up anything,” she snaps, pursing her lips. “I specifically put that CD case in front of the door to the cigar lounge because I couldn’t get in. I left it there for you to find - I left them for _you_.”

He’s floundering now, unsure what to do, because he hadn’t figured on this. He thought she’d just gladly take her CD collection back, never thought in a million years she’d fight him on this.

“You did? Why?”

“Be–” she huffs, glances around the room quickly then starts again, “Because we were friends. Because you didn’t have time to burn them, and you liked them, and I knew you didn’t have the money to go buy all of them, and I, I just _wanted_ you to have them.”

It’s the money part that irks him, though he knows she’s said a bunch of other things - important things - things that he should probably focus on, but his pride won't allow it.

“I could’ve bought them,” he argues. “If I’d wanted to, I could’ve.”

“I…” she pauses, tips her head to the side and gives him this knowing look that he swears has pity positively bleeding from it. “Robin,” she says quietly, “there’s like, two-hundred CDs in there.”

He immediately bristles, his teeth clenching, his hands balling up, his face and ears flushing red hot.

“Well I don’t want your... your _charity_ CDs,” he snaps, humiliated.

“You know that’s not what this is, Robin, I just –”

“Innit?” he asks, cringing when he hears his own accent thickening, the Manchester lilt trying to come out even as he attempts to correct it. “Isn’t that what this is all about?” he waves his hands around, indicating their relationship. “Boy, am I an idiot. Here I thought that tip was the first time you treated me like I was second class, but it’s been going on this whole time, I was just too bloody blind to see it.”

He runs his hands through his hair, ducks his head and continues, “ _Christ_ \- that’s all this was from the start, huh? Two years ago, I was just a placeholder - your stand-in charity case - because your father wasn’t here to take you ‘round to volunteer at the shelter, to make you feel better about yourself at Christmas.”

She gasps, “ _Hey!_ ” her cheeks turn red, and there is a fire raging in her eyes, but he doesn’t care if she’s angry - he’s angry, too.

“Well I’ll tell you what, _Miss Mills_ , I’m not some poor sod who needs your handouts, not anymore. I have a job, three of them to be exact, and I don’t need your money, or your CDs, or your _fucking help_.” He starts ripping his bandages off, because for some reason he feels like that’ll show her what he means, and he’s just - he’s _so angry_. He can’t believe he never realized any of this before - that she’s been using him, pitying him, and she, well, she can just _bugger-the-fuck-off_.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” she exclaims, and when he doesn’t respond because he’s busy trying to tear off his stupid, well-wrapped bandages, she adds, “Stop - stop it!” and she grabs a firm hold of his wrists. “You’re going to hurt yourself, acting like that - stop it, Robin, goddammit!”

"Why? What's it matter?" he growls, trying to pull away, then scoffing in disbelief when she doesn't let go.

Regina's hands curl tightly around his wrists, and with a strength he didn't realize she had, she pushes him _back, back, back,_ then shoves him down onto the bed on his back. He’s so shocked by her actions that he doesn’t even try to stop her, he just tips right over, and then she’s climbing up on top of him, and they’re struggling for control, but even though he’s physically bigger _and_ stronger, she doesn't let up. She digs the sharp points of her knees into either side of his ribs, and her fingernails into the soft flesh of his wrists and presses him down _hard_ into the mattress, and all he can think is _damn, she's small but she's surprisingly mighty_.

“Bloody hell, Regina, get off of me.” He tries to shove her away but she clings to him, her thighs tight around his torso and hands holding him down by his wrists.

“Not until you stop acting like a jerk and start listening to me,” she pants, shifting her weight forward so he can’t swing his legs high enough to get around her - clever girl.

“I have to listen to people like you all the time,” Robin arches his back, tries to throw her balance off but she squeezes her legs, and her knees dig into his ribs. It _hurts_ , the pressure makes him wheeze, and he writhes awkwardly before he drops back down to the bed. _Christ,_ her legs are strong. “But it’s after nine now and I’m off the clock,” he snarls, “I don’t have to listen to another word you say until tomorrow.”

“Well I’m not talking to you as one of _those people_ ,” she bites off, “I’m talking to you as your friend, but you won’t let me explain anything, and you won’t listen. News flash, but just because someone does nice things for you doesn’t mean they’re giving you a handout. Just because I spent time with you, and gave you my CDs, and wrapped up your hands, and kis…” she cuts herself off with a deep breath, but keeps her grip tight on his wrists. Her hair is curtaining down on both sides of her face, her red lips parted, eyes wild with anger and frustration that he’s sure matches his own. “Just because I did those things, it doesn’t mean it was _charity_.”

“Then explain what it was,” he narrows his eyes, huffs out a breath and tests her grip on him - but she’s still holding steady. “Cause I can’t think of any other reason why a girl like you would want to spend her time with a hood like me.”

“Because I lo-iked, you,” she confesses, awkwardly fumbling over the word ‘liked,’ her brows pinched tightly together. “You were kind to me.” Regina sits back on his stomach and releases one of his wrists in favor of poking him in the chest. “You were fun, and sweet, and thoughtful. And you didn’t judge me.”

Robin drops both of his hands to his sides, and they stare at each other for a moment in silence. Regina sighs, studies his face and runs her hands through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead before she tips her head to the side and fixes him with a hard look.

“But then I came back the next year and you said stupid, hurtful things to me that you never bothered to explain until _now_ , and I’ve been trying for _days_ to make up for my faux pas _this_ year, but you have _refused_ to let me, even though _you’re_ the one who stood by the door and cleared your throat at me - like _I_ was the one who was forgetting something that day. I panicked, okay? I thought you _wanted_ me to tip you, I thought you were teasing me, or teaching me a lesson or something. And then it turned into _this_. _God._ ”

His temper is quickly simmering down, and he’s finally listening to her, finally _hearing_ her, and he’s starting to feel like a bit of an arse for his behavior. _Shit._

She’s not done, though.

“You can believe whatever you want, but I have _never_ thought of you as second class. I have _never_ given you anything with the thought of it being for charity.” She levels him with a stern look, her dark brown eyes flashing her seriousness, and starts jabbing him in the chest again. “Those CDs were a gift I gave to you because I cared about you( _jab),_ and because our time together meant something to me( _jab_ ), so don’t you dare screw up the only good memories I have of that trip by making me take( _jab_ ) them( _jab_ ) back( _jab_ )!”

“Ow!” he whines, flinching under her pointy-fingered assault. “Quit poking me!”

“ _I will not!_ ” she pokes him again for apparent good measure. “Not until you _listen_ to me!”

“I’m listening!” he insists, batting at her hands when she tries to jam her finger into his sternum once more. “I swear, Regina, _shit_ , I promise, I hear you,” she slips past his defenses and pokes him again. “Ah!” - another jab - “Ow! I _believe_ you - _fuck,_ darling, you’re stronger than you look!”

“ _Yes I am,_ ” she huffs, _so_ indignant, but then she flattens her hands on his chest and breathes out, she drops her head in defeat, her entire body sort of deflates, and she finishes, “And now I have the scar to prove it.”

And just like that, the dam breaks.

Robin surges upward, his hands moving fast to frame her face, his fingers sliding into her thick black hair, pushing it back as he aligns their mouths and presses his lips to hers.

She inhales sharply, obviously surprised, but he doesn’t let up for a second. Her lips are so soft, so thick and warm beneath his, and when he shifts a little, changes the pressure and tilts his head so he can get a better angle - oh, _hell yeah_ \- she immediately responds in kind.

Their chests connect, and it occurs to him that she’s still got her legs on either side of him, and her hands are clutching tightly to the front of his shirt. She’s so fit, _god_ , he wants to touch her everywhere, wants to _kiss_ her everywhere, and this hot thrill rushes through his belly at the thought of doing just that. Robin works his lips achingly slow against hers, coaxing her mouth open with firm pulls of her plump bottom lip and deliberate swipes of his tongue across the seam of her lips while he relocates his hands to her hips, then moves them further still, until he can wrap his fingers around the backs of her thighs. She’s opened her hands now and is rubbing them along his collarbones, then stroking up and down his neck and chest, and he knows, _Christ_ , he _knows_ that she wants this, she wants him to touch her, to kiss her just as much as he wants to do it, so with one swift move he tugs her body flush against his, then flips them over so she’s on her back.

It is _heaven_ to lay between Regina Mills’ thighs.

He doesn’t even care that they’ve both got all their clothes on, or that there’s no way in _hell_ she’s going to let him get in her knickers tonight - he knows her better than that. But _fuck_ , just to feel the heat of her beneath him like this is magic. He has quite literally laid in bed with her all night in his boxers, kissing for hours on end, but this, _this_ is different. What they did when they were seventeen - that was sweetness, that was comfort, that was exploration and curiosity.

This?

This is _heat_.

The second she’s on her back it’s like something ignites between them - Robin dips down for another hot, deep kiss, and this time there is zero hesitation from her. Regina immediately parts her lips - their tongues meet, flick and slide - it’s hot, and wet, and fierce - _it’s pure pleasure._

Robin smooths one hand through her hair, cups her cheek as he kisses and kisses her, his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, but he could not care less about breathing right now. He’s caught up in her, and he’s pretty sure she’s into this too - her hands are running all over his back, sliding under his shirt, her right leg wrapped up around his waist as she rolls her hips and grinds against him. He’s obsessed with the sexy sounds she makes - the restrained, low moans when he rocks his hips down against her, sharp inhales of breath when his teeth nip or tug at her swollen lips, shuddery gasps when his hand runs up the back of her thigh or he gets brave and skates his fingers across her ribs. She’s so, _so_ gorgeous, and the second their kiss breaks, he tells her this - murmurs it against the golden skin of her neck. He kisses across the line of her jaw, whispers, _stunning,_ works his way along the curve of her chin and breathes, _beautiful,_ just before he places a soft, sweet kiss right over the scar that marks her upper lip.

Regina smiles for him, bites her own bottom lip, and her eyes grow soft. It’s only for a second though, then one of her hands moves to the back of his head and her nails are digging in, she’s kissing him _hard,_ their teeth clacking, hearts pounding, chests pressed tightly together. Robin grabs her by the thigh and yanks her even tighter against him - she must feel how turned on he is, she _must_ know, because she makes this sexy as fuck, high-pitched, moan-sigh, “ _Ahhh,”_ right into his mouth, then arches up against him. He takes that as encouragement and just goes with it, slides his entire body against hers, mimicking what he could - what he _would_ do - if she wanted him to, that is. Being with Regina like this makes him feel strong, makes him feel powerful, makes him feel like he’s the mother-fucking _man -_ he can’t even imagine what it might feel like to have _more_ with her _,_ but he prays he might be lucky enough to find out.

She makes another hot little sound, and he starts to move against her again, starts to get a bit hopeful, but then her nails dig into his lower back, and the next thing he knows she’s panting, “Wait, wait a second.”

He immediately goes still against her and shifts his weight so he’s leaning on one arm, not wanting her to feel trapped beneath him. Compared to him, she’s quite small, really, and he’s not sure what _wait_ means, but if it means _stop,_ he wants to make sure he’s got it right.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes nervously, worried he already fucked this up. “Did, uh, did I do something wrong?”

She takes a deep breath and runs a hand over her face, so he can’t see her expression for a few nerve-wracking seconds, but then she uses that same hand to reach up and cup his cheek, grins - _fucking grins_ \- up at him and says, “No, you did everything right. _Too right_.”

And then she laughs.

The sound alone has his stomach dropping out - her voice is rough and throaty, and he immediately wants to kiss her again.

He smiles back, quite happy with himself, and ducks his head to press his lips to hers.

She resists him though, uses the hand on his cheek to hold him back and says, “I think we’d better stop for tonight.”

“Oh,” he’s disappointed, doesn’t get it. “Why?”

Her soft, smooth fingers stroke gently over his brow, through his hair, and settle on the back of his neck. “Because I’m not sure I’ll want to stop if we start again.”

“That right?” he looks pointedly at her swollen, pink lips, her flushed cheeks and hooded eyes, knows he’s supposed to say something smart, something cheeky, but what comes out instead is, “ _Fuck,_ you’re pretty.”

She laughs again and scratches her nails along his hairline. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He cannot stop the cocky smirk from breaking across his face, though he knows it’s not polite, and she’s probably going to smack him for it. “Not bad? Didn’t you just say I was _irresistible_?”

Regina rolls her eyes and pushes against his shoulder, and they shift around until they’re on their sides, facing each other.

They talk for a little longer after that - nothing too serious, but enough to put an end to their argument, and enough to earn him a few more kisses before she walks him to her bedroom door to say goodnight. They agree to meet in the cigar lounge the following evening once he gets off of work, and Robin hands over the key so she doesn’t have to wait for him. He’s gotten pretty good at picking locks these days, thanks to all the trouble he’s been in with his fuck-up cousin Will, and there are very few doors that he can’t get past, so he doesn’t really need the key anyway.

He remembers to take the CD binder on his way out of her room for the night, and because he just can’t help but to tease her, he’s sure to thank her for the kind, thoughtful, completely non-charitable gift. Then he leans in and gives her one last kiss - a kiss which she ends with a well-deserved nip of his bottom lip - and he heads off to bed.

He never expected, never _dreamed_ that tonight might end with kisses and smiles from Regina Mills, but god, is he ever grateful for them.

* * *

“Don’t you think that uh, don’t you think that you should take the other ones?” Robin asks, glancing nervously at the pair of pink snowshoes that are still hanging on the wall of the shed, then back at the brown ones Regina is currently strapping to her boots.

“No. Why?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, it’s just that uh, those will probably fit your feet better,” he suggests, “Your feet are smaller than mine.”

“They’re the same size,” she shrugs, tightening up the strap on her left foot, “You said so yourself.”

“But those are made differently,” he tries again, his ears burning, trying desperately to sway her decision. “Those are made for, ya know, people of your stature.”

She looks up. “My stature?”

He nods. “Uh yeah, you know, smaller framed.”

She narrows her eyes and looks at the snowshoes, says suspiciously, “Smaller framed, huh…?”

“Mmhm,” he reaches for the snowshoes and sets them on the ground right next to her, praying that she’ll choose them instead of the ones she’s already half strapped into. He does _not_ want to go prancing about Gardener Manor in pink snowshoes, even if it _is_ with the girl of his dreams. If any of his mates see him, _Christ_ , he will _never_ hear the end of it.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that they’re pink, would it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, one side of her mouth raising in a little knowing smirk.

“No! ‘Course not!” he says quickly, _too quickly,_ and tries to correct. “It’s just, I uh, want you to be comfortable, as comfortable as possible you know? Cause it’s kind of a hike to the back garden, and I wouldn’t want you to feel bad if you couldn’t keep up. My legs are a lot longer and it’ll be tough enough on you as it is.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can keep up,” she grins, bends down and straps herself into the other brown snowshoe.

_Fuck._

Regina straightens up and looks at him expectantly.

“You know what?” she asks, her dark eyes positively sparkling with mischief. “These feel _perfect_ ,” she picks up one foot, then the other, giving them each a little shake in the air and taking a few careful steps toward the door. “Oh, yeah, these are _definitely_ the right fit for me Robin, I couldn’t have picked out a better fitting snowshoe if we’d gone to the store and bought new ones.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, Regina clears her throat to get his attention, and when he finally looks up from where he’s been glowering down at the pink snowshoes, he has to bite his lips to keep from scowling at her.

Because she’s smirking at him.

Smirking like she knows what’s got his goat, smirking like she thinks it’s hilarious, smirking like she’s going to torture the _hell_ out of him, just for the fun of it.

“I’ll bet these _salmon_ colored ones will fit you just fine,” she nudges one toward him with the tip of her own snowshoe. “Since these mahogany ones seem to fit _my stature_ so well.”

“Come on,” he tries, “You’re seriously going to make me wear these ones?” he gripes, wincing and kicking at them a bit.

“What’s wrong with them?” she asks innocently. “You wanted me to wear them, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah, but –”

“Did you want me to wear _defective_ snowshoes?” she mock-gasps, flashing her eyes at him but unable to stop her lips from curling up.

“No, of course not,” he defends, “They’re not defective. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” she shrugs, reaches in her coat pocket, and pulls something out. It’s one of the _very_ expensive cigars from the cigar lounge, which they were hanging out in for a bit earlier while they waited for the rest of the guests in the Manor to go to bed. They’re having a little midnight stroll through the gardens, it’s a nice night with a brand-new blanket of snow, the stars are out, and they’re both wanting to get some fresh air before the next winter storm comes through tomorrow and traps them inside. Regina produces a lighter from her other pocket, flicks it and promptly lights the cigar. “And if you don’t hurry it up, I’m going to have smoked this whole thing, before you even get out the door.”

She starts backing toward the entrance to the shed then, all gorgeous in the dim light of the single lightbulb, puffing on the expensive stogie, grinning widely at him as smoke clouds filter up in front of her. He’s got a decision to make - his pride or his heart - and as he starts strapping the hot pink snowshoes to his feet, all he can think is _fuck it_ \- he didn’t have much pride to begin with, and when it comes to Regina Mills, he’s always going to follow his heart.

* * *

She’s got wickedly good aim with a snowball; he learns that quickly.

He thought it would be funny, thought he’d toss one at her nice, round arse, thought that it would rile her up a bit, maybe get her to wrestle around with him in the snow today, might lead to a couple of those hot little kisses she gave him last night after their snowshoeing adventure.

And he was right - it did rile her up - but only after she pelted him to death with about fifteen, expertly aimed snowballs at his head, neck, and groin.

He’s breathless in the snow when she finally quits, jogs over to where he’s perished in a snowbank with his arms covering his head from the assault and asks him, “Had enough, or are you thirsty for more?” like they’re in that bloody Macaulay Culkin movie.

It’s cheeky and a little corny too, and it does the trick, has him cracking up and lunging for her legs, squeezing them together at the knees and tipping her over so that she comes down right on top of him, her elbow jabbing him in the chest, but not so bad that he minds. They wrestle about for a little while, grappling for no reason other than because it’s fun, and she keeps trying to shove snow in his face, and up his coat, and down his jeans, which shouldn’t be that difficult to stop because he’s much bigger _and_ stronger than her, but she’s all twisty and feisty and _sexy,_ and she doesn’t play fair.

No, she doesn’t play fair at all - every time he thinks he’s going to get her, she turns those big brown eyes on him, licks those thick red lips and begs him with little breathless, _Please Robin!_ ’s and _Oh god!_ ’s and _I’ll do anything!_ ’s that make his brain stop working, which of course, gives her all sorts of prime opportunities to get the better of him. He has yet to rub any snow in her face, to do anything more than pin her down and stare at her like a lovestruck pillock who can’t stop staring at the perfect curve of her lower lip.

When they get tired of wrestling - or more like, he gets tired of getting his face white washed - she’s positively _merciless -_ he talks her into making a half a dozen snow angels, one for each day she’s been back in England. It’s childish, but also quite a bit of fun, to sweep their arms and legs around in the snow - he doesn’t remember the last time he’s made one of these and neither does she, so they take their time and enjoy the hell out of it. By the time they’re done perfecting their artwork they’re soaked clean through, and the fat flakes of snow are starting to come down in droves, so they reluctantly trudge back up to the house before they freeze solid.

It’s late again, half past midnight, and they’re in the kitchen with all the lights off, save for the one that’s emitting a soft glow from the open refrigerator door. They’ve made a snack run - Regina wanted Hi-C’s and Cheez Balls, he was hoping to find some String Things or Butterfinger BBs - honestly, the Gardeners have _everything_ , but they sort of veered off course. Regina’s sitting on the kitchen countertop with him between her knees now, her ankles locked tight behind his arse, holding him close with his hands on her hips, and he’s been diving in to kiss her, over and over, as she teases him between bites of the last roll of Fruit by the Foot she’s found, but is totally unwilling to share.

She holds out a tiny piece of the candy for him, brushing it slowly across his lips as he parts them, opens his mouth and lets her slip her fingers inside, which he sucks on softly, _Christ,_ thinking of all the other parts of her he wants to put his mouth on. The tips of her fingers are rougher than he expected, are heavily callused, and he wonders about that, is insanely curious as to why that might be, but then she’s pulling her fingers from his mouth and replacing them with her lips before he has a chance to ask, and he totally forgets that he had a question in the first place.

He’s just slipping his tongue into her mouth, his hand at her lower back pulling her hips flush against his, when there’s a loud _click_ , and they are suddenly blinded by the white overhead lights of the kitchen. They immediately stop kissing and Robin tries to pull away, worried about getting Regina in trouble, but apparently she has other ideas, because she grabs two handfuls of his shirt and keeps her ankles locked behind him, hissing, _wait,_ and _please_ under her breath before he has the chance to back off.

“Oh Christ, Regina! What the bloody hell are you doing up in the middle of the– _oh_ …”

Robin nearly groans out loud. It’s Zelena, because _of course_ it is. It couldn’t be someone else, someone who _won’t_ hold this over their heads.

“Well, well,” the redhead purrs, flouncing into the kitchen, and heading over to the refrigerator. “Having a late-night snack, are we?” she smirks, grabbing a bottle of water before swinging the door closed and leaning back against it. “Tell me, which one of you do you think Mother will be more angry with when she finds out about this little rendezvous?”

Robin expects her to push him away, but Regina surprises him, slides one hand up to wrap around his shoulder to rub comfortingly for a moment before she responds to her half-sister. “I don’t really care if she’s angry with me or not,” Regina says hotly, “But that doesn’t matter, because _you’re_ not going to tell her anything,” she shifts forward on the counter to be even nearer to Robin.

“Oh? And what do you think is going to stop little old me from telling her?” Zelena grins, obviously not believing Regina as she twists the cap off her bottle of water.

Regina tightens her legs around him, runs her hand down his chest and then back up, lowers her face just a tiny bit toward his ear and says under her breath, “Get ready to run.”

He has no idea what’s she’s about to do, but he does his best to get ready, moves his hands behind Regina where he’s sure Zelena can’t see them, slides one under her arse, and wraps the other around the canister of Cheez Balls they found. They’re not leaving here empty handed, if he has anything to say about it.

“The fact that I saw Keith leaving your room in the middle of the night, almost _every_ night this week, when we all know you’re supposed to be dating that guy Walsh, the billionaire’s kid, who happens to be on his way here to pop the big question on Christmas Day. I wonder what he’d think about that?”

Zelena gasps, “Regina, you wouldn’t!”

Regina growls, “Don’t test me,” then breathes in his ear, _“Go, go!”_ so Robin doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even cast a glance in Zelena’s direction - he grabs Regina up off the countertop and bolts for the door, the Cheez Balls securely in one hand, trying his hardest not to laugh when he catches Regina flipping her half-sister the bird over his shoulder as they dash out into the hallway. He sprints down two full corridors before he’s laughing so hard, he’s stumbling, and then he’s forced to set her down before they both topple over.

“Holy fuck,” he’s cracking up, his cheeks hurt from smiling so much as they jog back toward the cigar lounge, “I can’t believe you said that, Regina, she’s gonna kill us!”

She’s laughing too, half-doubled over as she runs, her face flushed and hair in her eyes, “No, no, the best part is, she can’t!” she grins as Robin gets them through the secret door to the lounge, “It was a gamble, but I guess I was right!”

The door swings shut behind them, and Robin pulls up short as Regina grabs the Cheez Balls out of his hand and flops down on one of the big red leather sofas.

“That was a _gamble?!_ ” he gasps. “You were guessing? You _didn’t_ see Keith in her room?”

Regina lets out this low, deep laugh - almost, _Christ_ , a bloody _cackle,_ like she’s some kind of evil mastermind - and nods her head in confirmation, then pulls the top off the Cheez Balls and says, “I had zero evidence, I just had this feeling. I’ve seen him making eyes at her since I got here, you know, and following her around, and _you know Zelena_ , she’ll take advantage of anyone she can, so I just figured she probably was.”

Robin’s jaw drops. “You’re a bloody genius,” he shakes his head in disbelief.

She grins and throws a cheeseball at him, which he catches, and pops in his mouth.

He makes a fire for them in the lounge hearth, because they have plenty of wood and might as well burn it. He’s solved the mystery of Regina’s disappearing firewood - she’d been carting it down here in her suitcase during the day and hiding it among the cluttered furniture in the hallway outside the cigar lounge while he was working. It’s brilliant actually, because now all he has to do when they need logs is step into the corridor and grab an armful or two, and they’re set for a few hours.

They eat the entire can of Cheez Balls and have a nip of whiskey to rinse it down, since they had to abandon their Hi-C’s in the kitchen, and then they tuck in on the couch together with a big Sherpa throw blanket, talking and catching up until their eyelids grow heavy. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, or when she fell asleep either. He just remembers waking up sometime around four in a panic, thinking he was going to be late for work, and thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t when he’d seen the clock above the mantle of the fireplace.

He’s loathe to wake Regina from where she’s tucked in against him. She’s all warm and snuggled in tightly, one of her arms is curled around his belly, her fingers tangled in his shirt, and if he tips his head kind of awkwardly to the side, he can see her pretty face, totally relaxed in sleep. She’s peaceful, and beautiful, and sweet, and somehow still really sexy, and he swears he’d give up every good night’s sleep for the next year if he could somehow have just one whole night like this with her. It would be _so_ worth it.

But they can’t stay like this tonight, (probably not _any_ night, not _ever_ ) and the longer he lingers, the harder this is going to be. With a sigh of defeat, Robin slides out from beside her and puts out the embers in the fireplace, and straightens up a little, then returns to the couch, and doing his best not to bother her too much, he wraps the blanket around her and carefully scoops her up into his arms.

She comes awake when he does it, which he expects - girls don’t really get carried around anymore, he knows - but he wants to do this for her, because he’s strong and she’s not very big, and he wants her to depend on him for what little he can give her, even if it’s only a few minutes more rest. So he shifts her against him and shushes her, tells her, “Go back to sleep, darling, I’m just taking you up to bed,” and she smiles at him, her eyes all dreamy and unguarded in this way that makes his heart sort of spasm and his knees feel weak. Then she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls herself up to bury her face against his neck while he walks, and within seconds her steady breaths tell him she has indeed fallen back asleep.

It’s the first time in ages that Robin has felt useful. That he’s felt _impactful._ Like he’s done a good deed for someone else without really having much to gain. He’s not trying to sleep with her, he’s not trying to get paid for a job, he’s not even trying to win her approval. He just likes her, and he wants to be nice to her because it feels good to be good to her. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d wonder what that means.

But he _is_ tired, and it’s _really_ late. So when he gets her tucked into her own bed and she pulls him down to kiss him on the lips like he’s her boyfriend, like they’ve done this a thousand times, like it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world, he just sighs into her mouth and lets it be simple, because it _feels_ simple and _easy_ and _true_. Then he goes to bed and lets himself feel the goodness that she stirs in him, basks in it, revels, and lets it chase away the usual feelings of self-doubt, ineptitude, loss, and fear that usually plague him. He allows himself to fantasize of a life where he might get to carry her up to bed every night, press a kiss to her lips and then crawl in _next_ to her, and it makes him smile. But what’s more, it makes him want, makes him dream, makes him _hope_ for something more than this shoddy life he’s been living, for the first time in a really long time.

* * *

“Truth or Dare?”

She did Truth last time, and had to admit to him that since she’s gone off to University, she hasn’t slept with anybody, which for _some_ reason has plastered a huge smile on Robin’s face, and now a large part of him wishes he could just make her do Truth questions all night. He loves learning about her - not just the sordid details either - the little, seemingly mundane ones are just as interesting to him, if he’s being honest - but there’s safety in playing the game that allows him to ask these wild types of questions that he knows in any other situation she’d take offense to, or otherwise tell him to bugger off.

She opts for a Dare, just as he expected she would, but she looks a bit nervous and he’s not surprised. Last round on a Dare, she made him do as many push-ups as he possibly could - _shirtless_ \- then made him do _one more_ , just to prove he could. His shoulders and abs are still burning from it, but there is this brilliant tension simmering between them now - and don’t think for a second that he didn’t catch the way she stared at him, the way she bit her thick bottom lip while she watched him move. Regina’s got it bad for him, and he’s never been more thankful to be a blue-collar bloke in his entire life, because at least he’s got the body to show for all his hard work - not like some neck-tie wearing, pencil-pushing office lackey.

“I dare you…” he pops a handful of Doritos 3D in his mouth, looks around the lounge, thinks back to the last time they played this game and smiles. He’s still dressed down to just his white t-shirt, so his arms are exposed, and this seems like the perfect opportunity for a stroll down memory lane. “To give me another tattoo.”

Her corresponding grin makes his heart stutter - _god she’s pretty_ \- and she’s obviously pleased with the dare. Regina leaps up to go grab a Sharpie, and when she comes back to the big leather couch, she slides down next to him, tucks her legs under her and pulls his hand onto her lap, then immediately starts to sketch out something on his right forearm.

Robin watches her carefully, studies her features, and tries (and fails) to steady the erratic beat of his heart. He really, _really_ likes being so close to her, likes touching her, likes when _she_ touches _him_ , even when it’s not about anything that’s going to lead to something more. He didn’t grow up in a family of hugs and kisses and snuggles - was never coddled as a kid and hasn’t shared many of those intimate touches as an adult. The most he manages even with his closest friends is a solid handshake, and every girlfriend he’s ever had has complained of him being distant - of how he doesn’t like to hold hands, or cuddle, or really even touch at all outside of when they’re doing _stuff_ , or he’s trying to get them to do _stuff_.

He just has never seen the point in all that touchy-feely rubbish, has never understood it, or known why anybody would want it. It has always seemed like a waste of time, seemed embarrassing, _uncomfortable_ at best. But he doesn’t feel embarrassed, or uncomfortable, or like he’s wasting a lick of time when he’s touching Regina, or when she’s touching him. He feels excellent, he feels smashing, he feels _bullet-proof_ when they touch. He feels proud to be with her, no, it’s way more than that - when he’s with her, he feels totally full of himself, arrogant even, because he must really be something for _her_ to have picked him. He’s never felt that way in his entire life - he has struggled with thoughts of being second rate, especially growing up around gannets like Zelena Gardener - people who literally have it all. When Robin is with Regina though, he doesn’t feel like he’s lacking in anything - he feels like he’s overwhelmingly lucky - and he longs for her touches, craves her kisses, never, _ever_ wants to let go of her hand.

He can only conclude that Regina’s touch must be different, or rather, that _Regina_ is different, and that’s what has caused such a drastic change in his thinking. She’s special - she’s got some sort of Mills magic powers that make him feel like he’s better than he is - probably because she gets him, _really_ gets him, and she knows just what to say and do to make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s like sorcery or something; witchcraft; a love spell, perhaps, but he’s definitely _not_ complaining.

He loves how she’s _so_ serious about the task at hand right now, how she’s concentrating hard on whatever image she’s decided to ‘tattoo’ him with. It’s like it’s the most important thing in the world to her - she’s fixated on his arm with an intensity that he can practically _feel_ , and he can’t help but to reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear for her when it slips forward. She smirks, the corners of her eyes crinkle in acknowledgement but she doesn’t say anything, she just keeps drawing, her left hand holding him steady as her right traces line after line across his skin, and all he can think is, _Christ, she’s fucking cute._

He’s not used to this kind of attention - not from girls, not from his mates, not from his family - not from anyone. It should be weird for him, he thinks, he should feel awkward or overwhelmed under her scrutiny, the extreme focus she has directed at him, but he really doesn’t. He feels other things - excited, warm all over, a little nervous maybe - but that’s just because he hasn’t kissed her yet today, and he’s not quite sure if he should, or if he should let her lead it. Come to think of it, he doesn’t actually know if she even _wants_ to kiss again, or if that has just been a _heat-of-the-moment_ kind of thing.

But then he thinks, _nah_ , she wouldn’t have made him do shirtless push-ups if she didn’t want him to keep kissing her. So he should definitely do it. Or he should dare _her_ to do it. Maybe on her next one, he’ll dare her to - that’d really rile her up.

“What’re you smiling about?” she asks quietly, running the marker quickly back and forth in one spot, tickling his arm as she shades in an area of his tattoo.

He doesn’t know how she caught him - as far as he knows she hasn’t looked away from her drawing at all, but he smiles anyway and tells her, “Your next dare.”

“Mm,” she purses her lips as if this concerns her, but he can tell she’s hiding a smile with it. She sketches on him for a few more seconds, flicks her eyes up to his and says, “It’s your turn - Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you been in any trouble lately?”

It’s not the question he expects her to ask, not after all the lighthearted teasing and laughing they’ve done over the past few days. That’s a rather serious question, and not really something he’s keen on telling her.

“What d’you mean by _trouble_?”

She pauses and looks up at him from beneath her long, thick eyelashes. “You know what I mean - trespassing, stealing, whatever else. Have you forgotten that I know how smart you are? That you fill your spare time getting into mischief because you’re bored?”

He ducks his head at her odd compliment, feels his ears turn red, but he deflects the question anyway. “Mischief? You make me sound like I’m eleven-years-old.”

“Well, right now you’re acting like you’re eleven-years-old, trying so hard not to answer me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but she looks up again and throws him this devious little smirk - one of her finely arched eyebrows raised, a knowing tilt to her red lips - and it just takes all the fire right out of his temper. He puffs out a deep breath instead of getting upset, shrugs his shoulders and says, “A bit, yeah.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Robin sighs, figures he better just confess to what he’s been up to - she’s got a knack for seeing through things and he’d rather not risk getting caught in a lie.

“Uh, well, more of the same, really. After I got caught stealing - you remember that, yeah? You were here when that had just happened,” Regina nods, and he continues, “my parents kicked me out, so my cousin Will took me in. He’s five years older than me, and uh,” Robin hesitates, rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, “one night right after I moved in, we went to get sodas from this little corner shop. Only, Will didn’t want to go to the one nearest our flat, he wanted to go to this other one, which was quite a bit further away. So anyway, we get there, and like a blockhead, I go to get the sodas, but when I turn ‘round, Will’s going for the bloody register.”

Regina’s eyes widen in surprise and he nods, feeling ashamed but unable to do anything about it.

“I got caught trying to leg it back home, but since I didn’t have any cash on me, all they could charge me with was obstructing justice. Especially when I played dumb the whole time and wouldn’t admit to knowing anything about Will.”

“Wait - your cousin - he didn’t stay with you?” she cuts in, “He just left you to fend for yourself?”

Robin shrugs. “It’s what made the most sense. It’s a lot harder to catch two people going in opposite directions than in the same, plus he did the dirty work, and from the way he explained it, if we didn’t have that cash, we were going to get kicked out of our flat, and I was already at the last place I had to go.”

Regina frowns, but it doesn’t seem to be in disappointment; it’s more like she’s thinking hard about what he’s said, like she’s going over what his options might have been that night.

“So what happened when they caught you?” she asks, “Did you have to go to jail?”

“Well, it was only my second strike, so officially, I got community service.” Regina looks relieved, and he’s sorry to deliver her the bad news. He holds up a finger, “ _But,_ I got a bunch of rubbish court fines that I couldn’t pay, so I had to stay locked up ‘til those were paid off.”

“Oh my god, Robin, that’s terrible,” she gasps. “Will didn’t pay the fines for you, with the money he stole?”

“I told him not to,” Robin tips one corner of his mouth up in acceptance. “It would’ve defeated the purpose, and it’s not like anyone was missing me,” she tips her head to the side, her dark eyes sharp, lips pursed together in a tight line. “And anyway, I got three meals a day and a warm bed, all for free out of it, didn’t I? So it wasn’t such a bad deal.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” she argues, “and none of that was _free_.”

“It gave me a lot of time to think. Gave me time to figure out what’s important to me, and what’s not.”

“So, what’s important?” she asks quietly, capping the marker and setting it off to the side, then blowing lightly across his arm to set the ink. Goosebumps break across his skin, and again, he thinks about how much he likes being this close to her. Robin finally looks at the design she has made on his arm, and he breaks into a huge grin when he sees what she’s drawn.

It’s a large padlock that has the body in the shape of a heart, and he notices right away that the shackle is locked. He doesn’t know if she meant anything by that, but whether she did or not, the symbolism makes him smirk. She’s fancied up the lock with some intricate scrollwork, a lot like she did the first time she tattooed him, but the best part this time is that she’s added these sick flames licking up the sides of it, making it look like it’s this wicked fireball trying to roll right up his arm, and there’s this partially burned banner along one edge that reads “ _Still_ property of RM” in her beautifully penned script. Robin laughs softly, chuffed to bits as he looks it over and traces the letters lightly with the tip of his finger. She’s got some serious talent, and she’s so clever too - since he’s given her a key, it’s only right that she gives him the lock that pairs with it.

He has the overwhelming urge to kiss her, nearly reaches for her, his hand actually starts to rise, intent on threading through her gorgeous hair, but at the last second he remembers that she asked him a question about _what’s important_ , and he chides himself - _be cool, mate, just be cool._

“Well,” he changes the direction of his hand, and instead, takes hers in his, “for starters, I learned that spending time with people you care about is extremely important,” he smooths his fingers over hers, then intertwines them.

She gives him a shy smile and tightens her fingers around his, so he continues, “and that it’s important to know how to tell who _really_ cares about you, and who doesn’t,” she nods, and he presses on. “But you know what’s even more important?” he waits until he has her full attention, until she’s leaning in, obviously curious, her eyebrows up as she anticipates his next words. “What I consider to be _really_ vital information, of the utmost significance…” she flashes her eyes, impatience flickering in them, and he smirks, “is whether you’d like to do a _Truth_ or a _Dare_ next.”

She sighs in exasperation but sort of giggles halfway through it, and pushes his shoulder playfully, which breaks any lingering seriousness between them. Regina rolls her eyes and says, “Ugh, I’ll do a dare.”

He’s relieved, because he’s ready for her, primed and excited for what he wants to ask her to do.

“Alright then,” he shifts a bit closer and drops her hand in favor of placing both of his lightly on her knees. Her eyes follow his hands, but he ducks his head to regain eye contact with her, and even though she looks nervous, he can’t stop smiling, not when he’s looking at her. “Regina Mills,” he draws her name out slowly, deliberately, leans into her, and _oh fuck_ , she licks her lips, like she already knows what he’s going to request, “I, dare, you,” he pauses for dramatic effect, brings his face in closer to hers, then moves to the side until they’re cheek to cheek and he can whisper in her ear, “to give me a kiss I’ll remember, the next time I’m sitting in the back of a cell, unable to think about anything else in this world, _except for you_.”

The feeling of her smile - the curve of her cheek against his, the crinkle of her eye, the press of her temple to his - is the most intimate touch he has ever felt in his life. Her hands come up to curl around the sides of his neck, holding him to her, encouraging him to stay right where he is, and he feels frozen, paralyzed, but not in a scary or bad way. Nothing has ever felt so good, and he wishes he could stay _exactly_ like this for the rest of his life.

Regina’s thumbs stroke across his cheeks, catching a bit on the roughness of his evening stubble, and she nuzzles the side of her face against his, practically _snuggling_ him. He’s melting against her, is putty in her hands, his heart pounding furiously in suspense and the thrill of feeling her smooth skin against his. He flexes his hands on her knees but otherwise stays put, wanting her to lead, to do this however she’d like - it’s so important to him that she’s as into this as he is, that she does this in her own way.

Regina seems to understand, because she strokes her hands down his neck with this loving, tender caress, and a flare of longing for her blazes through his chest, then runs all the way up his neck to flush his cheeks. In almost direct contrast to his eagerness, she seems unhurried, taking a few seconds to just stay rather still with her cheek pressed against his, before she turns her head a bit and puts her perfect lips to his ear, mimicking his earlier actions. He thinks, _oh shit_ , she’s going to talk to him, to tease him maybe, and his mind races with all the things she might say - hot things, sweet things, perhaps even _filthy_ things - and he’s so excited to find out, that he’s nearly feverish with enthusiasm.

When she finally speaks, when her quiet, serious voice fills his ears, though, it’s like she flips a switch and all the oxygen suddenly gets sucked out of the room, snuffing out the fire that had started to blaze in his belly.

“ _No_.”

He pulls back slowly, carefully, perplexed by her answer. “No?”

She holds eye contact with him and shakes her head back and forth. “No.”

_What the…_

Robin has no idea what he’s done wrong, so, “Oh,” is all he says, and then he just sits there, feeling like a total, idiotic prat with his hands on her knees.

Well, this is bloody awkward.

She’s still staring at him though, her eyes all big and round and that gorgeous dark, dark brown color, and he doesn’t know where to look. He wants to look at her face, but she’s so pretty that it sort of hurts to look at her and be told _not_ to kiss her, especially when they’re this close, and her warm, soft fingers are framing his neck, making little swirls along his hairline, her thumbs brushing along the corners of his jaw. It only takes about five seconds before he caves.

“Uh, why not?”

Regina tips her head to the side and smiles sadly at him, then runs her fingertips all along the edge of his jawline, over his chin, and up to smooth across his lips.

“You might not mind sitting in a jail cell, Robin, but I’ll be damned before I give you an _incentive_ for getting yourself thrown into one. You’re too good for that. You don’t belong there, you never did, and I’d rather die than give you a reason to want to go back. You have so much potential, you’re–”

It’s not polite to cut her off mid-sentence, but apparently he can’t help himself - he’s overwhelmed or something, has all these odd emotions jostling around in his chest and burning red-hot behind his eyes, and before he knows it, he moves forward and presses his lips to hers. He honestly doesn’t even think about it, she just makes him feel so - _something -_ and he just _does it_ , and it’s not until she’s got a hand on his chest and is gingerly pushing him away that he realizes he’s just done what she said she wouldn’t do.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he’s upset with himself, terrified he’s messed this all up again. “Dammit - I didn’t mean to kiss you, Regina, really – I just – it’s just that you said such nice things – and I – and _fuck_ – I am so sorry – I mean…” he cringes, knows he sounds like a blubbering idiot, so he clams up, runs his hand roughly across his forehead and prays he’s not about to start crying. He feels like he might, feels the unfamiliar, hot sting of tears welling up even though he’s fighting it, and he can’t even remember the last time that happened. He hears his father’s voice in his head - _start acting like a man, toughen up, quit being a baby -_ and _oh bloody Christ_ , if he starts sobbing right now _,_ wouldn’t that just be the fucking icing on this cake of shame?

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, sliding her hand up his chest and around to the back of his head. She gently pulls him back to her and presses her forehead to his, starts kneading the back of his neck with these calming little pulses, and he sort of melts into her, totally at a loss as to what in the hell is happening to him.

“It’s not. It’s not okay,” he protests. Even to him, his voice sounds weak, sounds pathetic. “You said no kisses and–”

“I didn’t mean no kisses _ever_ ,” she cuts in quickly, dry humor lacing her tone, warm breath puffing against his lips. “Just… not as rewards for getting thrown into jail for no reason.”

Like a moron, he responds, “It wasn’t for no reason.”

“You…” she laughs softly, “You’re sorta missing the point, here.”

“I am?”

Regina smirks knowingly and nods against him. “ _Yes_.”

He feels like he’s missed some giant sign she’s given him, like she’s waving a big flag and he can’t see it, and he flounders, looks around in a panic and has no clue what to do. But then her hands find purchase on each side of his face, she’s tipping his chin up to her, and the next thing he knows, she’s kissing him.

_And **fuck,** is she ever good at it._

Her lips are incredibly soft, but _Christ_ , she’s so confident, so _sure_ as she moves them against him that she sends a shock right through his stomach. His hands twitch, automatically slide up from her knees to the tops of her thighs, and she rises up so that she’s towering over him, her hair spilling down to tickle his cheeks and ears as she tips her head left, then back to the right. He can’t help but think that even though she’s said she hasn’t slept with anyone since heading off to college, she’s certainly been practicing her kissing, because she’s much better at this than he is, and he’s _definitely_ been doing his share of practice. She’s just so polished, _so bold_ , so damn _sexy_ as she shifts her body closer and closer, until she’s got him leaned way back against the couch cushions, and before he knows it, she’s settled herself right on his lap.

He’s hesitant to do much more than hang onto her - she’s just, she’s _so fit_ , and she’s _so good_ , and she’s _so everything_ that he doesn’t want to fuck it up, and he’s afraid that if he moves, he might make a _wrong_ move, so he doesn’t. He holds real still, keeps his hands on her hips and just squeezes her curves while he teases his tongue against hers, sucks hotly on her upper lip, and lets her do whatever the hell she wants to do. He’s hers. _All_ hers. He’ll gladly give her whatever she wants.

It isn’t long though, before Regina flicks her tongue against his one last time, drags her teeth across his bottom lip, then pulls up, a bit breathless, and sits back on his thighs. Her hands smooth across his shoulders and she licks her lips, then sucks on her own, swollen bottom one - _god, that makes him want to do the same_ \- and asks, “Are you okay?”

He nods, grins, “Yeah, perfect.” Robin gives her hips an encouraging squeeze and waits for her to kiss him again, but she doesn’t.

“Oh, good. You weren’t really moving and I worried you short-circuited or something,” she teases, “I thought maybe Y2K got you.”

“Y2K?” he laughs, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you, darling, there’s _nothing_ short-circuited about me.”

She smiles broadly, her eyebrows quickly bump up and down, and then, the _bloody little minx_ , she sinks down and rocks her hips against him. Robin bites back a moan - if she didn’t before, she certainly knows he’s not lacking now - and when she blushes bright red, he finally feels a bit victorious tonight.

“You know,” he smirks, “It’s supposed to be _your_ dare. I was only holding still because I didn’t think it would be fair to distract you in the middle of it.”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything else, and to his absolute delight, she leans in and kisses him again.

This time it’s soft, slow, and sweet. Their mouths start open and it’s a long, drawn out affair, with tongues smoothly exploring, lips slipping and sliding, noses brushing, and an exchanging of breath that feels like the first true lungful of air he’s had since he kissed her yesterday. Robin dares to run his hands up and down her ribs, but that’s as much as he allows, knowing how weak he is for her, that if he drops his guard for a second, he’s likely to grab two handfuls of her perfect, round arse, and then, well, who knows what kind of trouble _that_ will lead him into.

After a few minutes, between soft, sweet kisses, Regina whispers, “Robin?” while tightening her arms around his neck and pressing her chest to his.

“Mm?” he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into him, letting his hands curl around to grasp each opposite hip. _God_ , he loves her curves, loves the way her hips flare, wishes he could run his hands all over her. It’s getting more and more difficult not to.

She kisses him again… again… _again_ , before she asks, “Truth or Dare?”

He’s supposed to do a Dare, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to move from the position they’re in - isn’t willing to pop this bubble of intimacy he’s in with her - so he opts for Truth instead.

“What’s the furthest base you’ve gotten to with a girl?” she murmurs, her lips finding the corner of his mouth, then moving to suck sweetly on his top lip, before pulling a bit harder on the bottom one.

“All the way,” he runs his hands up her back until he can feel the band of her bra beneath the soft, white cashmere sweater she’s wearing, then he swipes his fingers along the edge of it and back down her spine to the waistline of her jeans. “Been a long time since you last asked me that,” he explains, feeling like he needs to justify to her why he’s no longer inexperienced, even though the last time _she_ had already gone all the way.

He’s secretly glad that he’s able to answer this way though, that he has caught up to her in that department. He had been so embarrassed when they were seventeen and she had already gone all the way when he hadn’t - he knew that he shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t help it. He’s the _guy_ , _he’s_ supposed to know what to do. It doesn’t help that Regina is so pretty, so caring and funny and thoughtful and _perfect_ , which all made him incredibly nervous, and he had wanted _so badly_ to impress her that when he found out he was less experienced than she was, he felt like a right idiot. He was convinced it was out of pity or sheer luck that he got to kiss her at all, and after she had been sent home, he had vowed that he’d get caught up as fast as possible, that by the time he saw her again he’d be ready, he wouldn’t be so jumpy and unprepared. But then he’d messed everything up last year and missed his chance anyway. So now he’s good and practiced, knows what he’s doing - he’s ready for anything, you know, just in case.

“I know,” she bumps her nose against his, takes a deep breath and asks, “Was it, did you... like it?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he nods. Excitement starts to spiral low in his belly, but then he notices how serious she looks, and he frowns. “I thought it was brilliant. Didn’t you?”

She shrugs.

He’s super irritated that his experiences with sex and hers have apparently been very different. “Well, that’s… that’s just… that’s _rubbish_ ,” he’s completely indignant, wants to rectify the situation immediately. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. He must not’ve done it right.”

She purses her lips and looks annoyed. “He did it right.”

“But you just said –”

“I know what I said. It’s not like it’s rocket science.”

“Well if you didn’t think it was amazing, then he did _something_ wrong, or at the very least, he didn’t do it all the way _right_.” A thought occurs to him, and he blurts it out before he can stop himself, “That it? He couldn’t last for you?”

Regina looks positively mortified, and Robin can’t help it, it’s like he’s opened the floodgates and his stupid mouth just won’t stop. “I’ll tell you one thing, you wouldn’t have that problem with me. If I ever had the chance, I’d make bloody well sure you got off good and proper, and as many times as possible, as many times as it took for you to use the word _incredible_ when describing your experience, and then I’d get you off once more, just for good measure.”

Her face is so pink from blushing that he’s not sure if she’s angry, or embarrassed, or just plain shocked from what he said. He’s a bit embarrassed himself - hadn’t exactly planned on talking about how much he wants to have sex with her, or how much he wants to get her off… That’s quite a bit more graphic than he intended but, well, _fuck it_. He couldn’t help it. He won’t stand for her being treated like anything less than a queen.

They’re silent for a few seconds, and he decides it’s best to just move the conversation along before it gets any more awkward and she does something that will make him sad, like moving off of his lap.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

She hesitates, but after a moment she steels herself and says, “Truth.”

“Have you got a boyfriend?

She looks at him like he’s in the top spot on the MI-6 most wanted list, and narrows her eyes.

“Why?”

He smiles with all the innocence he can muster, and tucks her hair behind her ear with one hand, while he rubs a soothing circle on her lower back with the other.

“Because we’ve just been snogging the living daylights out of each other, and if some giant, steroid-shooting, Harley-Davidson riding, pistol-packing American bloke has already got your number on his speed dial, I’d like a heads up on the competition.”

Regina laughs and tips forward, presses her face into the crook of his neck for a moment and asks, “Really? Those are the guys you think I’m into? Biker gang dudes?”

“Why not?” he teases, tickling his fingers up her sides and making her squirm a bit. “That’s pretty close to what you’re getting with me, isn’t it? Well, except for the motorbike. And the steroids. And the pistol - but perhaps I could fashion a decent shiv, next time I’m in the clank.”

She sits up and kisses him soundly, then cups his face with both hands and commands, “You’re not going back to jail. You have to stop saying stuff like that, before you start believing it, you idiot.”

He chuckles and stares at her in wonderment. “Why’re you so worried about what happens to me?” No one has ever cared enough to try to convince him to get his act together. It’s the strangest feeling - makes his heart pound, his chest feel tight, his hands feel shaky. His mother kept trying to send him to therapy when he was a kid, but that was really just so his parents could blame his being a failure on someone else – a bad therapist, bad doctors, bad teachers – instead of themselves.

Regina’s brown eyes turn sincere, and she leans forward to press a slow, careful kiss to his lips. When she's through, though, instead of moving away, she stays close - so close, in fact, that her lips brush against his when she says quietly, “Because I don’t have a boyfriend.”

They kiss again, but he tries not to let it heat up, because things are getting quite serious now. Robin swears that he’s about one second away from begging her to be _his_ girlfriend, which he knows is total nonsense, but with every press of her lips against his, his willpower is failing, and things like distance, age, and social class are starting to matter less and less.

It's when he’s threading his fingers through her hair and trying valiantly _not_ to kiss her neck, her jaw, her ear - and just _barely_ resisting - that she finally saves him, pulls back and rasps, “Truth or Dare?”

His relief is immediate - he’s nearly out of control, because _good god,_ she’s just too beautiful for words - and he swallows thickly, then says, “Dare.”

She thinks for a moment, then a sly smile spreads across her face, and he knows he’s in for it.

“I dare you,” she pauses to kiss him, long and deep, with a slick, sensual slide of her tongue, “to take me,” his pulse jumps erratically at her words, finishing her sentence with implications of things that he _should not_. Regina slides her hands up his chest, then back down to wrap around his waist while she pulls herself tight against him, “to the bar tomorrow night.”

They’re nineteen, so they’re legal to go, though he knows she’s never been to a pub, unless she’s been able to somehow sneak into one back in the States. He studies her, and oh, fuck - judging from the outrageously devious smirk on her face, she _definitely_ has. She’s such a naughty girl, his Regina.

He grins and immediately agrees, because _Christ,_ if they survive the experience, and somehow don’t get caught, he just knows that this is going to be a bloody good time.

* * *

“You’re fucking mental, you are, bringing her here!” Will exclaims, shoving Robin a bit, causing him to spill his beer as he steps back to catch his balance. “She’s probably trying to squeeze out the fucking window in the loo, right this fucking second!”

“There aren’t any windows in there,” Robin grumbles, and next to him, John chuckles into his own beer. “Why’s it such a bad idea? She said she wanted to go to a pub. _This_ is a pub.”

“Not to a fucking place like this, mate,” Will shakes his head. “Girls like _that_ don’t want to come to fucking rat infested, penny-a-pint, piss poor pubs like this,” he’s looking at Robin like he’s a total pillock. “Girls like that want you to take them somewhere fucking posh, somewhere that costs a fucking arm and a leg, and your fucking first born child, just to get through the fucking front door.”

Robin pales. Oh god, has he cocked this up? Is that what Regina meant when she dared him to take her out?

When he’d asked, she had told him to take her wherever he was comfortable, someplace he already knew, so he had assumed she’d be alright with it if he brought her to the local pub he usually goes to, the one he and his friends frequent when he has a bit of extra cash and can actually afford to have a few beers after a long day’s work.

But maybe Will is right. Maybe she wanted to go somewhere nice, maybe she wanted to go to a club uptown and she’s currently in the bathroom, trying desperately to get reception on that fancy Nokia cell phone of hers, so she can get Zelena to come and pick her up. Maybe cracked, uneven floors, three-hundred-year-old overhead beams, and surly old barkeeps, just aren’t her cup of tea.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck._

Robin downs half his beer in one go, and waits on pins and needles for her to return, praying that she _will_ return, hating that he’s got this knot of anxiety in the center of his stomach now. He had thought it was going well tonight, but they’ve only been here a few minutes - just long enough for him to introduce Regina to Will and his best mate John. She hadn’t appeared to be disgusted when they’d walked in, though, hadn’t complained or said anything that might lead him to believe she might not like it here, and thankfully, it’s a busy night for the bar. There is cheerful holiday music playing over the admittedly outdated sound system, but excited chatter drowns out the imperfections, and people are filled in around almost every high-top table, in spite of it being the night before Christmas Eve. Apparently, everyone’s trying to sneak in one last round of revelry before having to sit through all their family obligations tomorrow. So there’s a good vibe going, good music, good company, and perhaps most importantly, alcohol he can actually afford.

The barkeep is John’s uncle Tuck, who also happens to own the place, and thankfully, he’s agreed to let Robin pay him back over the next two weeks for his and Regina’s drinks tonight. Since Will’s missed his share of the last five month’s rent, Robin’s only got about twenty pounds to his name right now, which he offered up to Tuck as a down payment, but Tuck told him to keep it until he had a final bill for him, and said they’d settle up then. Robin and John have been friends since they were five, and Tuck trusts him, knows Robin’s good for it, that he’ll come up with the money if he’s got to shovel snow and wash dishes until his hands fall right off.

Regina returns at last, and the second she’s in sight, he heaves a sigh of relief. She doesn’t look like she’s irreparably offended from her trip to the loo, and when she gets back to the table she doesn’t immediately reach for her coat, so apparently she’s not leaving, at least not right now.

“What’ll you have?” he asks, hoping that by getting her set up with a drink, he can buy some time to win her over.

She glances down at the beer in his hand. “Um, just, that’s fine - whatever you’re having.”

He frowns - knows she’s not an ale drinker.

“You don’t like beer,” he challenges quietly, turning toward her so as not to embarrass her in front of his friends. “You don’t have to drink it just because we are.”

“I’m not,” she argues, but he can tell from the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, and the way she’s set her jaw, that she’s lying. “That’s fine, Robin, I’ll have that.”

“Regina,” he reaches for her hand under the table, but keeps it low enough that Will and John can’t see it, unsure if she’ll be upset about him displaying his affection for her or not. “Why won’t you just tell me what you _actually_ want to drink? Why’re we out at a pub if you’re not going to order what you like?”

She bites her lip and squeezes his hand, thinks for a moment, then sort of winces and asks, “Do you think I can have a seven and seven?”

He’s confused by her hesitation, but glad she’s decided to get what she really wants. “Only one way to find out,” he shrugs.

Tuck sets her up with the highball, though Robin’s certain it’s not the right kind of whiskey, and probably not 7Up either. Regina doesn’t say anything about it though, she just smiles and thanks Tuck for it, then gives Robin a curious look when he doesn’t pay, and tries her best to get to know Will and John.

Who, to be honest, aren’t making things easy.

John’s being quiet - more quiet than usual - which is really saying something for a bloke who doesn’t say much to begin with. And Will, well, he’s being himself, which is really not a great thing when you’re trying to make a good impression on a first-class girl.

“Nah, I won’t have it this month,” Will informs him with total nonchalance. “I thought for fucking sure that stupid fucking horse would be the fucking one, mate, I had good fucking leads this time too - it was s’posed to be a sure fucking thing - you saw the fucking odds, Rob, you fucking saw them.”

Robin sighs. Looks like he’s covering the entirety of their rent again this month, which means his entire two weeks’ worth of work at the Gardener’s will go straight to the landlord, instead of toward that new pair of gloves he needs, or trainers, or a car, or really, _anything_ other than basic needs. _Shit._

The situation he’s in is embarrassing, and he doesn’t want to talk about it, or argue with Will, especially in front of Regina, so he tries to turn the conversation around. “We’re still on for next weekend though, right? We’ve got the contract to move the Feinberg’s?” It’s a big moving job that he worked hard alongside his boss to secure, and the extra hours it will give them should bring in a decent amount of money for both him and Will.

Will grins, “Yeah, we’re fucking on,” he leans in and lowers his voice. “But did you know that old man Feinberg is quite the fucking candy man?”

Robin’s stomach lurches. Oh god, _oh Christ_ , someone please tell him that Will is _not_ about to discuss his drug habit in front of Regina.

“No kidding?” John prompts, and Robin cringes, shuts his eyes and wishes he could pick Regina up and run right out of the pub. This is _not_ the kind of shit he wants to talk about with her around, not the part of his life he wants to expose her to. Will’s got issues, serious issues, and this is just like him, to fuck everything up right out of the gate. Robin should never have brought her here. _God dammit._

“Yeah,” Will’s eyes flash excitedly. “Apparently he’s got a huge fucking operation going. Lots of fucking opportunities there too, from what he told me. And his Charlie’s the good fucking shit too, from what I’ve sampled.”

“Will,” Robin warns, discretely nodding at Regina and trying to shut his cousin up with just a look. Unfortunately, it completely backfires.

“Oh, fuck, sorry love,” Will grins at her, “Charlie’s just slang for cocaine,” he explains, “Not fucking sure what you call it, but I’m fucking sure a girl like _you_ is familiar.”

“A girl like me?” Regina raises her brows.

 _Oh no._ No-no-no.

Will smirks. “Aye, you know, someone who can fucking afford it, one of _the haves_ , the fucking brat pack, the glitterati.”

“Shut your mouth,” Robin growls, already moving around the table, ready to knock the snot right out of him, but Regina grabs his hand and squeezes, stopping him in his tracks before he gets even a step away from her.

“Hey Will?” she calls, pulling his cousin’s attention from where he has squared up to face Robin. She takes a sip of her seven and seven, waits for him to turn and make eye contact with her from across the table, then says, very firmly, very clearly, “Fuck you.”

Everyone freezes except Regina, who calmly takes another long, slow sip of her drink, holding eye contact with Will as if she didn’t just tell-off a complete dickhead who has got a serious drug addiction, has knifed two people (that Robin knows of), and has done two turns in prison, all before the age of twenty-five. Not that she knows _all_ of that, but still - she’s a clever girl, and Robin is certain she’s figured out most of it from what he has told her about Will.

Suddenly, John guffaws into his ale and starts cracking up, then slaps Will on the back, which causes Will to laugh too, and the tension breaks. Robin clutches her hand tightly, unable to stop the huge grin that spreads across his face, and he steps into her, wanting _so badly_ to kiss her, to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her to him, _so proud_ of the way she stood up for herself. _Christ_ she’s bold. Will still looks stunned for a moment, then hilariously chastened, and he mutters a quiet, “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that, love,” before he turns and makes an excuse about having to use the bathroom.

It’s not long after that, that Will leaves, and Robin’s glad for it. He’s bringing the mood down and making him nervous, and he just wants to have fun with Regina tonight. On the way out, Will asks if he can borrow Robin’s jacket - apparently, he left his home and he’s got to leg it back tonight - so, feeling sorry for him, Robin caves and lets him have it. It’s not like he’ll need it - he’s got John’s blue hoodie and hopefully Regina to keep him from getting too cold on the short walk they have back to the Gardener’s.

“Truth or Dare?” Regina whispers when John’s distracted, checking out a group of girls who’ve just entered the pub in a swirl of perfume and laughter. Her voice has a bit of a Yankee lilt to it - she’s not drunk but definitely buzzed, on her third seven and seven but holding steady. Her cheeks are flushed, her jet-black hair is parted to the side, smoothly drifting down in long waves, drawing his attention to where it tickles her collarbone, exposed from the deep vee of her cream-colored long sleeve shirt.

 _Christ she’s pretty_. He wishes he could kiss her.

Robin smiles. They’ve moved to a booth on one side of the pub, where it’s a bit more crowded, but now John can stretch his long legs out, and Robin and Regina can hold hands under the table, can let their legs touch from hip to ankle without anyone being the wiser, and he likes it here, likes having Regina tucked in between him and the wall. It’s safe for her here, and he likes that feeling - likes knowing that he’s got her protected on all sides, that nobody can interfere.

“Truth.”

She must have had the question at the ready, because she grasps his hand tightly under the table and asks, “Do you promise not to get mad at me if I ask this?”

He frowns, can’t imagine what she might ask that could prompt such a disclaimer. “Of course darling, that’s sort of against the rules isn’t it?”

She nods, but adds, “You swear?”

She’s really serious about this, so he says, “I’ll tell you what. I promise not to get angry or upset about whatever it is you’re going to ask me, if _you_ agree to answer me back one Truth, with the same promise.”

Her eyes flick back and forth between his as she thinks it over, then she nods and says, “Okay, that sounds fair.”

“Be right back,” John interrupts, getting up and making his way toward the group of girls, apparently on the hunt for some feminine company of his own this evening.

Robin nods, then turns back to Regina.

She makes no qualms about it, doesn’t try to sugar coat her question at all, just asks him straight up. “Are you into drugs, selling or doing them, or… whatever else?”

He’s not angry at all. It’s a totally fair question, based on what she’s seen and heard tonight, and from what she knows about him.

“No.”

She stares hard at him, and he stares right back, until she nods. He doesn’t want her to think he’s trying to convince her of anything, to justify anything, but he does want to explain what he’s about.

“Will’s a dodgy skiving criminal,” he says, “And I’m well aware of that.” Robin takes a deep breath. “But I swear to you, I give you my word, that I’m not into _any_ of the illegal stuff he is,” he continues. “I used to get into shit with him, ‘cause I was naive and young, and I didn’t know any better. I was a kid and he was my older cousin and I thought everything he did was wicked. But I’m telling you right now, Regina, I don’t fuck with drugs. And I haven’t nicked anything since Will robbed that corner store. I might not be much, but I’m an honest _not much_.”

“I believe you,” she tells him solemnly. “You just gave me your word, and I know how serious you are about keeping it.”

A rush of pride flares through him, makes him feel like a flipping hero. He’ll never understand why she puts her faith in him, or how he ever earned such trust, but it makes his heart leap, makes him feel like someday, he might actually be capable of being something. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you when you say things like that,” he confesses.

“Then you should kiss me,” she raises an eyebrow in question, and _oh_ , _how can he resist?_

He indulges, leans in and fits his lips over hers in a lingering kiss that tastes like her lipstick and the cheap whiskey she’s been drinking, then he pulls back with a wet smacking sound, and a smile that just won’t quit. _God,_ he loves kissing her. It’s honestly the best feeling in the world.

She’s smiling too, her dark almond eyes amused and shining in the low light of the pub, but then she squints a bit and tells him, “I’ll do my Truth question now. We might as well get it over with so we can move on to the fun stuff.”

He nods and braces himself, hopes she can stick to her end of the bargain.

“How,” he loses courage, has to pause to clear his throat, and tries again, “How…” but then he snaps his mouth shut, certain this is a terrible idea. He shouldn’t ask her about her scar. Ever. It’s none of his business - it’s _nobody’s business_ , and he’s a privacy-invading-dickhead for even thinking that he has any right to ask her about it. He scrambles for another question that starts with _how_ , but he’s had a few pints now and his brain is sluggish, slow to come up with another question. _Shit._

“How did I get my scar?” she asks quietly, tipping her head to the side and studying his face.

He must cringe, must make some kind of face that confirms it, because she reaches for his hand and says, “It’s okay, I don’t mind telling _you_ about it. You’re about the only person who I don’t mind telling.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve seen her come unglued before,” Regina shrugs, “at least this time when she came after me, I stood up for myself.”

“Your mother,” he snarls. He knew it. He fucking _knew_ Cora did this to her. Anger, fury, pure, white-hot _rage_ streaks through his veins, and his entire body vibrates with pent-up aggression.

That bitch. That awful, worthless cunt. _How could she?!_ How could she do this to her own daughter, her child, her flesh and blood? Her beautiful, perfect girl?

“Yes.”

It takes him a solid five seconds to unclench his teeth to ask, “What happened?”

She licks her lips and picks up his large, calloused hands in her soft, smaller ones, pulls them into her lap while she tucks one leg under her so she can turn to face him in the booth.

“One night, right before I graduated high school, I went to a party with some friends, and got home way past curfew. I didn’t think my mother would notice I was late - she’d been gone a lot, she had met a man she’d been seeing a lot of, I think he was a senator or something, and so I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks.” Regina pauses, stares at their joined hands for a second, then continues. “I waltzed right in the front door - I wasn’t drunk but I had been drinking - and she was waiting in the foyer for me, sitting in the dark all creepy, with this photo of my father in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other.”

Robin already hates this story, wishes he’d never brought it up, but there’s something about the way she’s telling him, something about the way her hands are slowly running back and forth over his that makes him feel like she actually _wants_ to tell him this, like maybe this might be helping her, so he holds steady.

“She started screaming at me before I could even take my shoes off,” she huffs. “She kept saying that she thought I was dead, that I had _abandoned her_ like my father had, that I was selfish, and embarrassing, and all these other terrible things. And then she told me that my father would be ashamed of me, and it was so weird, because I just, I lost my temper and started yelling back at her. I told her that _I_ was ashamed of _her_ , that she was a terrible mother, and the most selfish person I knew.”

Robin smirks. He really doesn’t have any right to be, but he is so incredibly proud of her, of how much she has grown, of how brave, of how capable she is.

“Well, apparently she didn’t like my yelling back at her, so she threw her glass at me. I got lucky and she missed, but then she came after me, and she must have forgotten that she was still holding the picture of my father, because when she hit me, this,” she runs her fingers over the perfect imperfection in her lip, “was the result.”

Robin quickly leans forward and threads his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of her neck, proceeds to press a kiss to her beautiful scar, then dots another one to it, and _one more_ , before settling back and waiting for her to continue.

She gives him a soft smile and licks her lips, bites her bottom one and takes a little breath before she continues. “There was blood everywhere, and to be fair, she did seem like she was pretty horrified by what she’d done,” Regina rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what came over me, Robin,” she cringes, ducks her head and looks up at him from beneath her lashes, “I shoved her, _hard_ , shoved her right down on the floor and told her if she ever touched me again that I’d tell everyone what a monster she is. That I had proof now, and I’d tell the whole world just who Cora Mills is behind closed doors. And honestly, I think that in that moment, I think I really meant it, and I think she knows it, because she hasn’t so much as raised her voice to me ever since.”

Robin is so bloody impressed he doesn’t even know what to say.

All hail Regina, Queen of Kicking Arse and Taking Names seems about right, though.

“You’re brilliant,” he breathes, leaning in and kissing her hard, with so much force his teeth accidentally clack against hers. _Christ_ she’s amazing. He pulls back, frames her face with both hands, stares deeply into her eyes and says, “Good god, Regina, you’re my fucking hero.”

She looks totally shocked for a moment, then her forehead crinkles, her eyes get all wet and even though she tries to smile, he thinks she’s about a second away from crying, and he knows how much she hates that. So, he just dives in and kisses her again, gives her an excuse to close her eyes and think about something a bit more pleasant for a bit.

“If you all will stop making out for two seconds,” John quietly interrupts, placing a large hand on his shoulder, and Robin tears his lips from Regina’s - _shit-shit-shit -_ “I keep trying to tell you that Marian and some of her friends just came in, and they’ve invited us to join them.”

“Oh!” he perks up, that’s actually great news. He was hoping he’d get to introduce Regina to Marian, but he hadn’t had a chance to get a hold of her at the last minute, so it’s a happy coincidence for him that she turned up tonight. “Do you mind if we join them?” he asks her, “I’d love for you to meet my friend Marian. We’ve been friends since we were in primary school. I think you’ll really like her, she’s the best.”

Regina agrees, and after he gets them another round of drinks, they join the group of very loud, very chatty girls taking up one corner of the pub.

He knows all of them, has - _whoops_ \- slept with a couple of them, but he’s thankfully on good terms with everyone and they all seem happy enough to see him and John, though they cast curious, calculating glances in Regina’s direction, which no one bothers to even try to cover up.

Women are such strange creatures. One on one, they seem simple enough, but put them in a group, and well… apparently the rules of engagement change. They’re only about twenty minutes into chatting with the new group of friends, when Robin realizes that somehow, he’s made a mistake.

Several of the girls immediately start chatting him up, asking him how he’s been and what he’s been doing, so to be polite, he spends a few minutes with them. He does his best to introduce Regina to everyone, but no one seems very keen on talking to her, and it’s annoying him, because he thinks she’s about the most interesting person he’s ever met. What’s worse, is that the other girls keep pulling on him - quite literally - dragging him over into this story, and then that story, back and forth through the group of them, making it impossible for him to keep Regina next to him without holding onto her, which he’s not sure if she wants him to do, being that they’re _technically_ just friends. He doesn’t know how she wants him to act in front of everyone, if she wants him to hold her hand or show his interest, _especially_ in front of a group of judgy girls, so he’s trying to play it cool. She’s obviously better than everyone in this pub, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s tied to a schlub like him if she doesn’t want to be.

Some of the girls are acting strange tonight, are being extra touchy - grabbing his hand, his arms, giving him a kiss or two on the cheek - but he figures they’re just hammered and doesn’t think much of it. Marian seems mostly normal though - he eventually gets her attention and talks with her quite a bit, but she’s essentially bracketed on all sides by other women, which doesn’t help the situation because, whether they mean to or not, they sort of crowd Regina out. When he looks up after a few minutes, he finds her standing with John on the very outskirts of the group, and that’s not at all what he wanted - he wanted her to meet Marian - so he motions for her to come back over. She gives him a strange look though, and shakes her head as if she’s completely disinterested, but he persists, and eventually he coaxes her back over. When she gets back, she stands awkwardly next to him, both of her hands wrapped securely around her drink, sort of tucked into herself like she doesn’t know what to do. It’s odd behavior considering how comfortable they’ve been around one another, but when he tries to shift closer to her, it’s _Marian_ who steps closer to _him_ , throwing her arm around his shoulders and telling the other girls in the group a story about some shenanigans they got up to when they were fifteen.

Marian has always been the touchy-feely type. She’s a hugger, grew up in one of those Hallmark channel families, where everyone says _I love you_ about a hundred times a day, and so he’s used to her doing this sort of thing, and he doesn’t think twice about it when she presses a big wet kiss to his cheek and runs her fingers playfully through his hair. She’s done it a thousand times - probably _five_ thousand times - because that’s just who she is, and Robin knows, just as well as Marian does, that she has zero interest in him. Marian’s been tragically in love with Will for ages, has endured a terrible on-again, off-again romance with him that absolutely _no one_ , not even Robin, can talk her out of. So he doesn’t worry for a second when she hugs or kisses or shows him affection. It’s meaningless - they’re just friends - they always have been and _always_ will be, and everyone knows it.

Everyone, that is, except Regina.

He’s an idiot though, and he doesn’t think about this fact, because he’s distracted, and just when the thought starts to half-form he’s suddenly being taken to the other side of the group as the result of Marian’s story, and he ends up having to work his way back to Regina once again, which takes a solid ten minutes while he fends off multiple attempts at conversation from these other silly girls. When he finally gets back to her with Marian in tow, Regina’s acting weird, barely participating in any of the conversation he tries to include her in, clutching her drink _so tightly_ , and for the life of him he can’t figure out why she and Marian just don’t seem to be clicking _at all,_ when he was so sure that they would. After a few minutes Marian gets distracted and moves off to talk to someone else, and Robin gets a chance to get up close to Regina without anyone cutting in, and he can tell from the way she bristles up that he’s done something terribly wrong.

“What’s the matter?” he tries, reaching for one of her hands and frowning when she not-so-casually avoids him by using that hand to smooth her hair back, then stuffs it into her back pocket.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not,” he argues, “You’re upset. What’d I do?”

“Nothing.”

Fuck. She’s shut down on him, so she must really be angry, or perhaps even _hurt._ He feels an overwhelming urge to fix this.

“Darling, if you’ll just tell me what I’ve–”

“Truth or Dare?” she interrupts, her eyes flicking to his, then back to the group.

Robin shakes his head, bewildered, but answers with, “Uh, Dare, I suppose…”

Regina bites her lip and looks around the room, then back at him. “I dare you,” she drags her eyes up and down him, "to give me your hoodie.”

He doesn’t really get the point of the dare, but he can admit that it is a bit cooler on this side of the pub since they’re closer to the door, so he shrugs, unzips his sweatshirt, and hands it over to her.

She puts it on and zips it up, and Robin can’t help but smirk - she’s _adorable_ in it, practically swimming, the hem coming all the way down to the tops of her thighs, the sleeves so long she has to fold them back twice at the cuffs.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks, hoping to break her out of this sour mood she’s in.

“Dare.”

Damn. He’d been hoping she’d pick Truth, so he could make her tell him what’s up with her. He looks around the bar and tries to think up a decent dare for her. “I dare you…” he sees Tuck wiping down the bar and an idea pops into his alcohol buzzed brain, “to kiss the barkeep.”

Regina raises both eyebrows at him and glances warily toward the bar. “Seriously?”

Robin grins. “Yup. Go see if you can plant one on Tuck. That’s the dare.”

She stares at him for a moment, searches his eyes for what, he doesn’t know, but then a look of irritation crosses her face, and she says sharply, “Fine.” Then without another word, she struts right past him in the direction of the bar.

Robin turns to watch her go, excited to see Tuck’s reaction when she attempts to kiss the old duff, and she’s just reached out and gotten the man’s attention, when one of the girls at the table shrieks, “Wait, stop everything! Robin’s got himself a tattoo!”

His stomach drops out and he cringes, turns toward the group and tries to think up an excuse for the permanent marker on his arm. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, and between Will taking off with his coat, and Regina currently wearing his hoodie, there’s no way for him to cover it up, so he’s trying to think of a plausible explanation that doesn’t involve having his tongue down Regina’s throat, but nothing comes to mind.

“Robin Locksley!” Marian exclaims, shoving her way through the group toward him, “I cannot believe you inked yourself and didn’t tell me!” she slaps him on the chest and grabs for his arm, pulls it right up in front of her face as she says, “Well, let’s see it, then! What’d you get?!”

He tries to pull away but everything is happening so fast, and he’s in a bit of a panic, totally lost for words. Marian is anything but a pushover of a girl - she’s already got his whole arm locked down in a vice grip, tucked up against her stomach, as she examines the padlock Regina drew the night before.

“ _Still property of RM_ ,” she reads aloud, for the entire group to hear. “Who the bloody hell is RM?” she asks, rightfully looking at him like he’s gone mad.

Robin starts shaking his head, then laughs nervously and explains, “No need to get all excited, it’s not, uh, it’s not a tattoo, it’s just marker,” he licks his finger and scrubs hard at one edge of the flames until the ink starts to blur. “See? It’s just a bit of Sharpie.” The other girls at the table all shrug and go back to their conversations, but Marian is giving him a strange look and of course, she doesn’t let him off the hook quite so easily.

“Why were you drawing on your arm?” she asks, pulling him in close, wrapping the arm in question around her waist and throwing her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. “And you still haven’t answered my original question of ‘who the bloody hell is RM?’”

He sighs against her, knows he’s been caught, and hugs her back, then drops his head to her shoulder for a moment and accepts that he’s going to have to come clean.

“Regina Mills,” he says in her ear, not wanting to be overheard. “I let her draw it, and I… I’ve got it so bad for her Mar,” he confesses, “Seriously, I think… I think I might be like, falling for her. I can’t stop thinking about her, I just like her so, _so much_. She makes me feel so good all the time and I, I’ve never felt like this about _anyone_ before. She’s just so, she’s just, she’s _everything._ ”

Marian leans back and stares at him with surprised, wide eyes for a few seconds. “Oh, darling,” she murmurs, running her fingers soothingly over the side of his face, then down to grasp the curve of his shoulder. “I know that feeling. You’ve fallen, I can see it in your eyes. You’re in deep.”

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling all at once triumphant and defeated.

“Yeah,” she nods, her eyes flick to his left, then back to him, and she carefully steps out of their embrace, her voice a bit louder now. “But you’d better be careful, yeah? You know how girls like that are, they think they own everything. _Everybody_.”

“I know,” he agrees, but before he can argue, _but not her,_ Marian nods and turns to talk to someone else, so Robin just lets it go. He suddenly remembers that he was supposed to be watching Regina do a dare - prays that he can still catch the tail end of it, that Tuck put up a fight, and that Regina’s still trying to convince him to let her kiss him, though he doubts any man could, or would, resist her charms.

He turns sharply and nearly bumps right into her - Regina is literally standing directly behind him - not a foot away from where he’s been talking with Marian. _Christ_ , he hopes she hasn’t overheard him pouring his heart out. That would be so bloody embarrassing, he might just die on the spot.

“Did you do it?” he asks her, watches the way her eyes harden, the curl of her upper lip as he confirms what she apparently already suspected - that he wasn’t paying attention.

“Does it matter?” she fires back.

He cringes. “Of course it does,” he reaches for her but she stares daggers at his hand and he drops it immediately, shoves it into his pocket and doesn’t try it again. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he truly is. He wanted to watch the dare, he just got distracted, he didn’t mean to miss it. “I wanted to watch, honestly - I only looked away because everyone saw your drawing on my arm and they all thought I’d gotten a tattoo,” he smiles.

“Did you tell them what it was?” she asks, tipping her head to the side, studying his face.

He suddenly feels like he’s taking a very important test, and he very much doesn’t want to fail it, but he’s not really sure what the _actual_ question is that she’s asking, or how he’s supposed to answer it. He opts for honesty - that’s always the best option, right?

“Well, I told them it wasn’t a tattoo,” he shrugs, then gives her a little smile, “and don’t worry, I didn’t tell them that _you_ were the RM from the banner.”

Regina’s face falls, and she drops her eyes from his to stare at the floor for a long moment as he helplessly looks at the top of her head. “Should I have?” he asks, feeling quite thick.

She brings her head up and looks at the large group of girls gathered around the table next to them for a few seconds, then back to him and mutters, “No, I guess not.”

For some reason, her answer makes him feel like he wants to throw up.

He notices her glass is empty, and remembers that his is too. “Fancy another drink?” he asks, wondering how on Earth he’s fucked up this night so badly.

She nods, but her tone is somber. “Sure. Why not?”

He makes a quick trip up to the bar to get their next drinks, and spends the time Tuck is getting them together trying to come up with a game plan to get back on Regina’s good side, even though he’s not really sure what he’s done to set her off in the first place. When Tuck hands him his refills, though, the old man gives him a stern look and asks gruffly, “The hell you doin’ son?”

Robin raises his brows, “Getting drinks?”

“Take it from an old man who’s seen a lot of tail-chasers come through here,” Tuck says, “You’d better cool yer jets, or yer goin’ to find yerself with a cold bed tonight.”

“I’m not trying for a, for a _warm bed_ ,” Robin defends, “It’s not like that with Regina.”

Tuck shrugs, “Well from here, it sure don’t look like you’re limiting your fail-safes,” and before Robin can ask him what the hell he’s talking about, the old man ambles down the bar to fill someone else’s glass.

More confused than ever, Robin takes the drinks back to Regina and uses the hand-off as an excuse to step in close to her. “So, uh, it’s my turn, right?” he asks, dropping his head down close to hers and catching the heady, vanilla fragrance of her shampoo, such a contrasting relief from the smoke and boozy odor of the pub.

“Your turn for what?” she’s looking into her drink, avoiding him.

“I pick Dare,” he bumps her shoulder amicably with his. “And you’d better make it a good one. After I missed yours, you ought to put me through the ringer now, give me something really tough, yeah?”

She gives him a serious, thoughtful look that makes him feel like she can see right through his attempt to make amends, and he tries to be patient, prays that what he’s doing will work. Robin sips on his beer while he waits, hoping she thinks up something terrible for him to do, like having to eat all the nasty martini olives from the bar, or chug everyone’s drinks at the table, or fill his pants with snow - something that will make up for whatever it is he’s done to upset her. He doesn’t really care what she dares him to do - he’ll do it - will do whatever she wants. He just hopes it will make her smile for him, because it feels like ages since she’s done that, and he hates that apparently all he’s done for the past hour is annoy the life out of her and make her kiss a man three times their age - none of which was in his plan for this evening.

“Since apparently we’re daring each other to kiss other people,” she drawls, eyes narrowed, “I dare you to kiss one of those girls,” she nods toward the group of Marian’s friends, then takes a long drink, while holding his eyes.

His heart _thump-thump-thumps_ with sickening dread against his chest. “Uh, what kind of kiss?” he asks, _very_ uncomfortable with her request.

“On the lips,” she doesn’t even hesitate, just stares him right in the eyes, with this gaze that is _so challenging_ that he just… can’t find the will to argue with her.

“Which girl?”

Regina takes a moment to look the girls all over, then points out Ava, a curvy blonde who’d been particularly chatty with him tonight. “Her.”

Robin sighs. He’d rather not kiss _her_ , because he slept with Ava last summer, and he doesn’t want her to get any big ideas about having another go at it. He tries to think up an excuse, but can’t come up with a way out of this without Regina getting angry with him for ducking out of the dare - especially not when she already kissed Tuck because of him. _Shit._

He swallows thickly, “You sure that’s the dare?” he asks, glancing nervously at Ava and then back at Regina. “Kiss Ava?” His stomach twists in nervousness just thinking about it. He doesn’t want to kiss _anyone_ except Regina. Not Ava, not any of those girls - not _ever._

Her voice is stone cold steady when she narrows her eyes, tips up her chin and says, “That’s the dare.”

Robin brings his pint to his lips and takes a big gulp, hoping it will settle his nerves. He feels queasy, feels a sense of extreme unease, like this is an enormous, gigantic mistake, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what the hell to do about it.

“Alright…” he sighs, sets his glass on the table and makes his way over to Ava. He’s just sidled up to her, is leaning toward her, halfway through his made-up explanation of how he hasn’t got any chapstick, and _could he borrow some of hers?_ when he feels a firm hand digging into his bicep, roughly yanking him away.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” John rasps, trying to keep his voice down, but his eyes are wide with panic. “Aren’t you here with Regina?”

Robin pats his friend on the chest and tries to give him a reassuring smile, though his insides are twisted up with this acute anxiety that he just can’t shake. “Yeah, yeah I am. But s’alright, mate, we’re playing truth or dare - this is just my dare.”

“Your _what_? What’re we, twelve?” John chastens, “If you’d have just seen the look on her face, you’d have known better than to even _think_ about following through on a dare like that, you twat.”

“Hey, wait a minute, it’s not like I _want_ to kiss Ava,” Robin snaps. “Regina dared _me_. It’s _her_ idea. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t even be playing this game.”

“From what I’ve just witnessed, I’m pretty sure you’re _not_ playing a bloody game,” John shakes his head.

Robin groans, feels like he cannot catch a break. “Well how should I know?” he gripes, “She’s been hot and cold all night - I haven’t a clue what she wants from me.”

John just frowns, so Robin continues his rant.

“Really man, I don’t get it. Earlier, I dared her to kiss Tuck but that was a joke, that was _obviously_ not going to lead to anything. She _had_ to know this was different when she dared me - that these girls, you know, might be interested. Does she think it’s funny? Cause it’s not funny, it’s not a joke, at least not to me. I don’t know why she wants me to kiss other girls when I don’t want to be kissing _anyone_ unless it’s _her._ ”

“I’m about a thousand percent sure she doesn’t think it’s funny,” John starts, but Robin cuts him off.

“Do you think she’s just having a laugh?” Robin asks, “That she’s not serious about me, that she’s just using me as the butt of a joke and she’s not actually interested? Tell me what you think, now that you’ve met her,” he demands, “Do you think this is all just a game to her?”

“I dunno about any of that,” John shrugs. “She seemed alright to me, for a rich girl, once she loosened up a bit. But if you want answers to the rest of all that, then you’d better get a move on.”

Robin’s running his hands over his face in frustration, but he freezes at John’s words. “What? Why?”

“Cause judging by the speed she flew out of here, she’s probably halfway back to the Gardener’s by now.”

His stomach plummets right to his feet. “ _She left?!_ ”

“Yup. Took one look at you moving in on Ava, talked to Tuck for a second and then slipped out the back. But I’m telling you, from the look on her face, Rob…” John shakes his head, “You’re in for it.”

“ _Fuck_ …” Robin starts shoving his way through the crowd, moving as fast as possible, his vision tunneled, and he accidentally knocks one guy right down on his arse as he bulldozes past him. He pauses, starts to apologize but discovers it’s actually Keith, so instead of apologizing, he lets his anger get the better of him, and he bites off, “ _Christ_ , Keith, get the fuck out the way, you potato headed minger!” and continues his mad dash for the back door.

Robin prays that he can catch Regina in time. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to say, he just knows that he’s _got_ to get to her, because he absolutely will not allow tonight - the one chance he’s been given to take her out - to end this way. No, it can’t be like this.

He _slams_ into the door that leads out to the alley, flings it wide open as he flies through it, and the frigid air hits him like he’s just plunged into a frozen-over pond, stealing the breath from his lungs and immediately flaring goosebumps across his exposed skin. Robin looks to his right and sees no one, but when he turns left - thank the heavens - about halfway down the alley, there she is.

“Regina! Wait!” he calls, and she stops even though she’s a decent distance away. He starts toward her at a dead run, slipping in the snow every few feet but managing to keep his footing through sheer perseverance. He’s _so_ relieved that he’s caught her, even though he’s quite angry, and he doesn’t understand her, and he doesn’t get what the hell is going on between them, and he has no idea how to fix it. But bugger all if he won’t try.

She’s bundled up, obviously about to attempt the trek back to the manor - her red coat is buttoned all the way to the top, her leopard print scarf wrapped snugly around her neck and peeking out between the lapels, her gloved hands tucked deep into her pockets. When he finally gets to her he sees that she’s glaring at him, that apparently _she’s_ angry with _him_ , and it fires him up, makes him even more irritated that she’s just waltzed out and left him hanging high and dry.

“What the fuck?” he starts off, “What happened? Where’re you going?”

“I’m going back,” she says hotly.

“Back?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re _tired?_ ”

“And bored.”

“Bored?”

“What’re you a parrot?” she snaps, “Can’t you come up with anything original to say?”

“How about you tell me why you’re angry with me, when I was doing exactly what you dared me to do?” he challenges, wrapping his arms around his torso for warmth and bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s brass monkeys out here tonight.

“I’m not.”

“That’s a load of tosh,” he steps closer to her, and she doesn’t back down. “You’ve been upset since we joined Marian and her friends, and I want to know why, I want to know what I did to bugger this all up, because I’m getting real tired of playing your mind games, Regina. I don’t know what kind of joke you think that was, asking me to kiss Ava, but it wasn’t funny to me. It was awful. And now apparently I’m in trouble for it, when I didn’t want to do it in the first place, and I didn’t even go through with it anyway, and now you’re leaving, and I’m fucking freezing–”

“ _My_ mind games?” she huffs, “You’re one to talk, Robin, really, that’s _rich_ coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shakes his head, totally at a loss.

Her brows shoot up, and then she unleashes on him. “It means that the second those girls showed up, you were a totally different person. One minute, you were the sweet, nice guy that I know, sitting in a booth kissing me, treating me like I was important, like I was _somebody_ to you, and the next second, you were letting yourself get worshipped like a Greek god while I watched from the sidelines.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Oh stop,” she rolls her eyes, “Those girls were all over you - kissing you, touching you, hugging you - and you couldn’t get enough. You completely forgot I existed, just left me there with John, then sent me off on some stupid ass dare to get rid of me, which worked great until everyone saw my drawing on your arm, and then you had to make up something, had to pretend _I_ didn’t do it, so they knew you were still on the market.”

“That’s not _at all_ what happened!” he’s starting to feel desperate, tries to explain, “I didn’t know what you wanted me to say - I didn’t know what you wanted me to do. I kept trying to get you to join in and you were being all weird and quiet and –” he starts to defend himself, sees the hurt in her eyes, and cuts off sharply.

Robin thinks back to the way he was behaving with Marian - allowing her to hug and kiss him, and the way they whispered to each other. He thinks of the way some of those other girls were being overly flirty, the way they boxed Regina out of the group, and how he couldn’t stop it, because he didn’t know if he was allowed to hold her hand, or her waist, or stake any kind of claim with her at all. In retrospect, he can kind of see her point.

“Marian is always touchy,” he changes course, “She’s _super_ touchy, she’s always that way. But we’re just friends. She’s with Will, on and off,” he rushes, “We’re not anything more than friends, I swear.” Regina narrows her eyes and looks away. “Regina, I give you my _word_ \- I’ve got no interest in Marian. Not now, not ever.”

She’s clenching her jaw when she looks back at him, but that seems to have caught her attention at least. Robin fights a shiver and says, “That’s just how Marian acts, she’s just, she’s a touchy person. I, I guess I should’ve told you, warned you or something, and I’m sorry about that. But what’s this business with Ava?” he pushes, “Why’d you make me do that? Why the hell are we out here, Regina?”

“Well, you know how we rich girls are, acting like we own everyone and everything. I just figured it was better if I left.” She’s trying valiantly to cover the hurt in her voice with mock sincerity, but not quite able to hide it all. Robin drops his head back in exasperation, knowing now that she overheard Marian, that she must have heard his partial answer out of context and - _oh, Christ -_ he has really got some explaining to do.

But Regina’s not done.

“You had lots of options for company tonight, and that girl certainly seemed interested in you, so I thought I’d give you a head start with her. Didn’t think you’d even notice I’d gone back.”

“OF COURSE I’D BLOODY NOTICE!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls of the alley, tears springing to his eyes, but she doesn’t startle, doesn’t back down and doesn’t act like his outburst has affected her in the slightest. He takes two steps back, sucks in a frigid lungful of air and chokes on it, coughs and rubs his arms for warmth as he tries to catch his breath. “Sorry, sorry, _Jesus Christ_ ,” he immediately lowers his voice, ashamed of losing his temper. “I – don’t you know that tonight was entirely about _you_ , Regina? Everything tonight was about _you_.”

She rolls her eyes, the sarcasm positively dripping from her grumbled, “ _Right_.”

“This is such shit,” he shakes his head, starts pacing the alley, “Why do you think I brought you here?” he’s so flustered. Their relationship is so difficult, so frustrating, and yet, so fantastically easy sometimes, when the stars align and all this other rubbish isn’t in the way.

“What?”

“Why do you think I brought you here, to _this_ pub?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it’s my _favorite_. It’s where I go when I’ve had a good day, or a particularly bad one, it’s where my friends and I hang out, and it’s where I had the best shot of introducing you to the most people I know in one go.”

“So.”

“So I wouldn’t do that if I wasn’t serious about you,” he pleads, “I wouldn’t bring you around to meet all my friends if I didn’t like you, if you weren’t _somebody_ to me.”

“Well you have a funny way of showing it,” she bites off. “Every single girl in there looked at me like I was a complete bitch. They had their minds made up about me from the second they laid eyes on me. I didn’t stand a chance at making a good impression with them, not coming from the family I’m from, and the longer we stood there, the more they pulled you away from me. And I honestly don’t care about _them_ \- I don’t need their approval - but _you_ , you just _ate it up_ , and then I heard you agreeing with Marian about _how rich girls are_ , you ass, _I heard you._ ”

“Marian didn’t let me finish my sentence!” he defends, “I was going to tell her that you weren’t like that, but she turned away before I had the chance! And being that I had just got done telling her that I was falling in love with you, maybe you can see why she was telling me to be careful!”

Regina’s eyes go wide, her lips part - a hot little white puff of breath escapes - and she breathes a shocked, “ _Shut up_.”

He does. He shuts the fuck up.

He cannot believe he’s just told her that. Waves of embarrassment crash over him, his face heats and his ears are so hot he thinks they might melt right off. _Oh fuck. Oh Christ._ What the hell has he done?

He panics. “Well, it, uh, whatever,” he shifts around, the snow crunches underfoot, and he shoves his freezing hands into his pockets. He hunches up his shoulders against the cold and mutters, “It doesn’t matter, it’s all a big joke to you anyway.”

“It’s not a joke.” He’s staring at his boots so he’s not looking at her, but he hears her indignation when she prompts, “Who said it was a joke? Who, Robin? _It’s not a fucking joke._ Who said that?”

He meets her eyes and mumbles, “Nobody _said_ it, but I can tell, you know. Why else would you go telling me to kiss other girls?”

“I didn’t think you’d do it!” she starts stomping toward him, dark eyes flashing her betrayal. “You weren’t actually supposed to do it, you idiot!”

Regina pokes him in the chest and his temper flares. _She. Is. Impossible!_ She goes to poke him again but he grabs her offending wrist and tugs her toward him, snaps, “Then _why_ would you dare me to?!”

“I –” she stares at him for a moment without saying anything more, just long enough for Robin to connect the dots.

“You… you’re _jealous_ ,” he gasps, drawing her closer, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “Shit… That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No,” she says obstinately, purses her lips and stiffens up in his arms, looking everywhere but in his eyes. “No… that’s not… _no_.”

He drops her wrist in favor of reaching up to smooth her hair off her forehead and out of her eyes, tucking it back behind her ear, and she finally regains eye contact with him. They stare at each other for a few seconds, breathing hard in the wake of their tumultuous emotions, the white clouds of their breath colliding and mixing, his cold hand tangled in the fine strands of hair at her neck, the tension thick over what has just happened.

Her eyes are all worried and pleading like she needs him to _fix this,_ and he wants to, wants more than anything to fix it - decides that he _will_ fix it - right here, right now, if she’ll let him. He ducks his head and kisses her then, captures her lips in a desperate kiss, unable to resist the temptation with her held so tightly in his arms.

Regina clutches tightly to his biceps, the leather of her gloves doing nothing to help the chill on his skin, but he tries hard to ignore the bite of the bitter air surrounding him. Her face is warm, her lips welcoming, moving hard and fast, her tongue pressing against his in a silent argument over who gets to enter whose mouth first. He wins the battle, because his hand is in her hair, and he tangles it up, tips her head back and presses in, which, _oh,_ elicits this quiet moan from her, which he takes full advantage of to slip his tongue in further to flick against the roof of her mouth. She tastes incredible, like whiskey and soda and lipstick and _Regina_ , and when she slides her hands up from his arms to wrap around his neck, he could probably flip a car from the rush of victorious adrenaline that starts pumping through his veins.

He’s still cold, _freezing_ actually, but he’s not breaking this kiss for anything - _no way -_ so he opts instead to pull her closer, hoping to soak up some heat right through her winter coat. It’s wool though, the good stuff, the kind that traps all the warmth, not like the shit he let Will take off with. So even though he’s feeling all kinds of hot blooded on the inside, what with her soft, full lips tugging at his, her teeth nipping fast at his upper lip, her tongue making that little swirl against the tip of his that he imagines she might make on the head of his dick - _fuckfuckfuck -_ even though he’s all riled up on the inside, he’s starting to shiver on the outside, and he can’t quite fight it back.

Robin drags his teeth across her bottom lip, then soothes it with a soft suck, their lips parting for only a moment while he leans back to tip his head the other direction and shift the hand he’s got wrapped around her hip up to the warmth of her neck. He’s not really thinking though, and he really should have been, because when his icy fingers slide in under her scarf, Regina inhales sharply and jerks away.

“Shit,” she whispers before he can apologize, kisses him again, then adds, “C’mon.” She begins pulling on him, her hands securely locked around the back of his neck as she walks them toward the opposite wall of the alley, where she posts up with her back against the wall and immediately starts unbuttoning her coat.

Every brain cell in Robin’s head stops firing, and he just gawks, slack-jawed, as her gloved fingers quickly slip the large black buttons, one by one, through the little holes of her thick red coat.

“Wha,” he stutters, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re freezing,” she mutters, irritation lacing her voice. “Why’re you always freezing when we’re making out?”

For some reason, he’s immobilized, he can’t do anything but continue to stare, shivering stupidly, while she gets her coat open, then unzips his hoodie that she’s wearing beneath that, revealing her cream-colored long sleeve shirt.

Robin rakes his eyes up her body, from her calves to the curve of her toned thighs, over the flare of her hips to her soft stomach and the swells of her breasts, then up to her beautiful face, and - _oh god_ \- he wants her so, so much. He swears that the world sort of goes still all around them, like it zeroes in on just him and Regina when he takes that first step toward her, and his head sort of shuts off, and his hands kind of take over, and _oh, oh, oh,_ he’s the luckiest bloke alive.

Her heat is stunning against his chilled body, radiating against him and pulling him in so that at first all he can do is press against her while he soaks it up. Regina wraps her arms around his neck, tucks her face in close, and presses her forehead to his cheek, and with her coat open and wrapped around him, he’s essentially cocooned in her. The vanilla and lavender fragrances she uses are all around him, invading his senses, mixing with their breaths, and his cologne, and the smell of fresh snow, and it’s this wonderful private world he’s suddenly escaped into, one that’s beautiful and perfect and only him and Regina.

It’s heaven, he’s certain of it.

She guides his mouth back to hers with a gloved hand on the back of his head, and he’s _hot_ now. Hot all over. On fire. He kisses her with a frantic need he hadn’t felt before, with a need to prove something, like he can pour his heart right into her through each press of his lips against hers, each pass of his tongue between her lips. Her hands are clutching him tightly to her, holding onto his shoulders and sweeping back and forth, her breaths as ragged as his, her body arching toward him when he experimentally presses his chest to hers.

Up until now his hands have been safely stationed on her back, have been smoothing between her lumbar and her hips, careful not to cross any lines, but now she’s getting playful, she’s getting _feisty_ , nipping at his lips and teasing him. She has all these hot little tricks to drive him totally mad, like moving away at the last second and causing him to kiss her cheek, her chin, or her jaw instead of her lips; or making him chase her mouth by brushing her nose against his and playing hard to get, leaning in like she’s going to kiss him and then _not_ , over and over until he moves fast and _slams_ his lips to hers. She moans when he loses control, gasps when he rolls his hips against hers and makes these hot little noises - _Mm’s, and Ah’s_ \- and _blimey_ , he’s burning up for her. He loves it.

But then he thinks, if it’s other places she wants him to kiss, who is he to argue?

Robin slides his hands from her back to her hips, making sure to get underneath the fabric of the hoodie so there are as few layers separating his hands from her as possible when he starts to skate them up her ribs. She’s a bit ticklish, he’s aware, but he goes slow enough that he hopes it’s a sensual feeling, not an uncomfortable one, swirling his thumbs inward across her stomach as he moves to press a kiss to her cheek. Her breathing changes, turns from fast and smooth to choppy when his hands slide up, up, up to frame her just beneath her breasts, but he doesn’t go any higher, not yet. Instead, he holds steady there, just rubs his fingers back and forth where they are and starts dotting kisses along the sharp, gorgeous cut of her jawline - of which he is certain he has never seen a more perfect one. He moves quickly, though, his own anticipation pushing him along, kissing all down one side, under her chin, and up the other side, his breathing picking up, his jeans tight from wanting her so, _so badly_. He pauses at the hinge of her jaw to suck softly, letting his tongue swirl against her a little, and her head tips into it, so he does it again, then catches her earlobe between his teeth. She makes the most adorable squeak of surprise _ever_ in response, which he promises himself he’s going to tease her about forever, later, when they’re not quite so much in the thick of things, but lets it go for now, laughs softly and starts kissing her neck.

When he sucks hotly just under her ear, he must hit some kind of sweet spot, because she breathes out deeply, her leg comes up to wrap around his, hauling him in close, and her hands fidget madly behind his head for a moment before her warm, bare fingers are threading through his hair.

A pound to a penny, this is the best day of his life.

He moves his hands then, shifts them up ever so slightly so that his thumbs brush the bottom of her bra, and he relocates his lips to her ear.

“Want you so much,” he whispers, meaning every word more than she could possibly know, swiping his thumbs slowly back and forth, testing the waters. He kisses just in front of her ear, bumps her nose with his and moves his thumbs again, a bit more firmly this time, “Can I… is this okay?”

“Yeah,” she tips her chin up and kisses him, her hands snake down between them and find his wrists, and _fuck-fuck_ , she moves his hands up, until he’s got two handfuls of her tits, “Like this.”

He looks down between them and his hips automatically rock into her at the sight of his hands on her breasts. He thanks god that she somehow chose this cream colored shirt, because it’s only amplifying the experience, making it look like she’s topless in this dim light, and he’s imagined this so many times, thought of her gorgeous body, of how much he’s wanted to be with her, touch her, get his mouth and hands on her, _in her_. He feels like he’s going to explode - his head, his dick, everything. He’s not going to make it through this experience without having a bloody heart attack. _Fuck_.

“God, you’re so fit, feel so good,” he rasps, kneading her carefully. He squeezes her again and feels the little points of her nipples hardening beneath his palms, and he moans, gets excited, starts rubbing her tits with a bit more enthusiasm. Regina arches into his touch and he smiles, presses kisses to her throat from her chin all the way down to the collar of her shirt while he positions his hands just so, and then with both thumbs, he starts flicking rapidly over those sensitive tips that are now quite obvious, even through two layers of fabric.

She inhales sharply, her knees buckle and he just about loses her for a second - but he’s quick, thank god - and she’s still got a leg wrapped around him, so between that and the arm he throws around her waist, he gets her steadied in under a second.

But oh, he’s going to be grinning about _that_ for the rest of his natural life.

He pins her to the wall by the hips, stepping between them and pulling her leg up high around his waist so that even if her knees go to jelly again, he’ll have her. He likes this better anyway - it slots his hips nicely against hers, lets him grind right where he wants to, right where he wishes he could be, but knows he probably can’t. He’ll take it, if this is all he’s allowed, it’s still brilliant, not tops, but a close second for sure.

Robin starts up a slow rhythm with his hips, pressing against her and diving in for kisses at the same time, but she’s still a bit unsteady, her hands clutching at his back, her breaths shaky. So he uses his strength to lift her up a little and then, when that seems to feel pretty good, he picks her up the rest of the way, so she’s got her legs wrapped right around his waist and he’s got her securely pressed against the wall.

“Rob, Robin,” she pants, kissing him hotly, her lips swollen and wet, her nails scratching against his hairline. He will _never_ forget the way his name sounds on her lips in this moment. _Never_.

“Mm?” he keeps kissing her, can’t be bothered with words. They’re not important. Words are for later. Touching is for now.

He slips one hand between them to play with her tits again, and she drops her head back on a throaty moan that makes him seriously concerned about coming in his pants. He thumbs over her nipple with quick swipes, then tries something new - pinches it between his thumb and forefinger right through her clothes, giving it a squeeze and a little tug. Regina jerks against him in reaction, gasps, _Ah,_ and _Please_ , and then _Shit_ , when he does it again, and oh, how he wishes he could get his mouth on her.

 _Her_ mouth is all over him though, her lips trailing down his neck, nipping at his collarbone, her tongue swirling over his pulse, where she pauses to suck and scrape her teeth over his sensitive skin. “So good,” she pants against his neck, “I, I want…”

“Me too,” he captures her lips and slides his tongue deep into her mouth, tugs and twists her nipple again and rocks his hips against her. “Wish I could take your top off,” he pants between kisses, squeezing her tits, moving his hand back and forth between them. “Wanna suck on your nipples so bad. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I sucked on them?”

She’s squirming all over him, rubbing herself on his dick, right through his jeans, so he doesn’t really need an answer from her - he knows she wants that. He’d give just about anything right now to give her that. “Want to see your tits so bad,” he continues, kissing her neck, sucking on her pulse, “Wanna see what they look like when you’re on top of me, underneath me, when they’re dripping wet, wanna know what color your nipples are, what they look like when I pinch them, or when I suck on them for ages and ages.”

“Oh god oh god oh god,” she’s started a mantra - it’s so low and quiet he can barely hear her, but she’s definitely murmuring it under her breath as she runs kisses along the column of his throat.

He’s painfully hard now, her tight, hot body is driving him mad, and he’s at his breaking point. He wants to get his hand down her knickers, feel how wet she is, to slide his fingers up inside of her and make her come, and if he can’t do that, then he’d at least like to get his hand down _his_ pants. Either way he wants to get his hand down _someone’s_ pants, _someone_ has got to get relief here, because this situation is wildly out of control.

“Should we,” he breathes, “Can we?” he doesn’t know how to ask her how to move to the next step. He’s never felt this way with other girls, hasn’t felt the need to get things so _right_. Regina is incredibly important to him, she means everything to him, and he just, he wants to give her what she deserves and nothing less.

“I want to,” she pants, moaning quietly when she rolls her hips against him, then cups his face with both hands, “God, I want you so much. But it’s not a joke for me, Robin, please tell me you know that, tell me you know it’s not a joke for me.”

Her eyes are a bit wild but full of conviction, and he believes her, doesn’t doubt for a second that she’s telling him the truth.

“I know,” he nods, presses his forehead to hers. “I know it’s not.”

They breathe deeply against each other for several seconds, trading chaste kisses as the cold night air sneaks in to chill their overheated bodies now that they’ve calmed down some. Robin tries to slow his beating heart, to quell the overexcitement he’s feeling in _other places_ , because he knows, without a doubt now, that if they ever do have a first time, a first _anything_ , he certainly doesn’t want it to be in some back alley outside a dodgy pub.

“What do you say we head back?” he suggests, “It’s not too late, we could start up a fire in the cigar lounge, maybe make you a proper seven and seven, and just talk for a while.”

She smirks at him and teases, “Who knew you were such a gentleman, Robin Locksley?” but she loosens her legs from around his hips, and he sets her on her feet.

* * *

It’s a quick walk back to the Gardener’s, which he’s grateful for because he just couldn’t bring himself to ask for his hoodie back from Regina, so he’s toughing it out in just his t-shirt. Regina isn’t happy about it, she keeps throwing him these annoyed looks, grumbling about how he’s being _ridiculous_ and warning him that he’s going to get hypothermia _yet again_ as they traipse through the snow, which crunches loudly beneath their quick footsteps.

He teases her about her concern, because he likes to see her blush, and she’s so pretty anyway that he just likes looking in her general direction. He tells her, “Well the last time I had hypothermia worked out pretty well for me, so I think I’ll risk it.”

Regina rolls her eyes and bumps him with her shoulder, warns, “Well I’m not letting you into my bed with lame excuses like that this time. I’m onto your games, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that.”

“Hmm, I’m sure I can think of something,” he smirks, grabbing her around the waist and tucking in behind her, walking several steps with his bigger body bracketing hers, loving the way she fits against him, how he can tuck her head under his chin and almost double up his arms around her. She’s so small, if she was a drink, she’d only be a half-pint, he thinks - but she’d be a damned satisfying one. He smiles at the thought and ducks his head down by hers to press a kiss to her cheek.

“But you know,” he murmurs, shifting his cold arms up to wrap across her shoulders, making walking a bit easier for them without sacrificing their closeness, “we’ve still got an entire week left together before you’ve got to go home,” he presses another kiss to her cheek, is pleasantly surprised when she tips her face back to his and captures his lips in a sweet kiss. “Think of all the times I might get hypothermia between then and now. How often I might be exposed to the elements. I’m going to need good and proper care, darling.”

She snickers and presses her lips to his, says, “Then you’d better find yourself a doctor.”

“Are you not one?” he teases.

“Mm-mm,” she kisses him again.

“Physical Therapist?”

Another kiss. “Nope.”

“Lawyer?”

Kiss. “Nuh-uh.”

“Business professional?”

She laughs - kiss - “No.”

“What _are_ you going to school for?” he caves, slightly more serious.

“Music.”

Robin breaks into a laugh and says, “Well shit, looks like I’m doomed.”

Regina grins and suggests, “Well, if you freeze solid, I might be able to shatter you out of the ice with the right resonant frequency.”

He laughs heartily, and tells her “Brilliant! See? Problem solved.” He hugs her tightly, then presses a kiss to the very top of her head, feeling like he’s on cloud nine. He wonders what she plans to do with her career in music, if she plays an instrument, and he’s about to ask her when she interrupts his thoughts with a question of her own.

“What about you? The other night you said you had three jobs. I know about the one at the Manor, and the one with the moving company, what’s the third?”

“Landscaping,” he smiles. “That’s the one I actually like. Might even start my own business someday.”

“I bet you’re really good at it,” she hums, “You’re great with details, you appreciate design, and you don’t mind doing the hard work.”

Robin nods, “I love being outside. I don’t think I could ever sit behind a desk.”

“I don’t think it’s exciting enough for you,” she laughs, then adds, “Unless it was in a secret hideout or something.”

They turn down the drive to the Manor and make their way up toward the main entrance, intending on using the back door, but wanting to utilize the walking path Robin shoveled out earlier today, which wraps around between the two. As they round the front hedges though, the front door comes into view, and something odd catches his eye. As they draw closer to the house, it’s confusion, and then dread that washes through him, and he immediately lets go of Regina, unsure of what to do in this situation.

There are two police cars parked in the circle drive, and a small group of people standing on the front steps of the Manor, of whom Robin recognizes Jonathan and Zelena Gardener, Keith, and Cora Mills. Four officers are milling around, one’s got a notepad out and is speaking with Jonathan, jotting down whatever it is he’s saying, and Robin’s got this nasty feeling in his gut that whatever is going on, it’s probably not going to end well for him. He doesn’t know what the hell Keith is even doing here at this hour, but he’s looking far too pleased with himself. On the other hand, Zelena is looking rather nervous, and anytime _that_ happens, well, it just spells bad news for everyone else.

Robin and Regina pause before anyone sees them, and suddenly Regina grabs his hand.

“Do you know what this is about?” she asks quietly, staring at the scene in front of them.

“No,” he says honestly. “You?”

“No.”

Robin sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sure you haven’t got anything to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I’m not old enough to drink in my country,” she turns to him. “Do you think…?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “That’s peanuts. They’ve sent too many coppers for that.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and he has an urge to comfort her further.

“I’ve got you covered,” he says, “No matter what. You just stay quiet and let me do the talking. I’ve been through this dozens of times. I’ll take care of you, of this, alright?”

“Robin, I’m afraid,” she whispers.

“There’s no need for that,” he pulls her to him, wraps her in a tight hug, and starts pressing kisses to her head. “You’re going to be just fine, darling. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He kisses her temple, her forehead, down the bridge of her nose. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

Her hands are balled up tightly in his shirt, and she’s holding onto him _so fiercely_ that his heart is breaking for her. He hates seeing her afraid - it makes him sick, makes him angry, makes him detest every person standing on that porch for making her feel this way.

“No,” she rasps, pulling back to look in his eyes, her gloved hands rising up to bracket either side of his face, “No, you don’t get it.”

“What? What don’t I get?”

“Not for me, I’m afraid for _you_.”

He holds very still. “For _me_?”

“I don’t want you to do anything to protect me, I don’t want you to get into trouble. Promise me. Promise me you won’t.”

“I,” he shakes his head, warring with his instincts and the request she’s making of him. “I dunno…”

“Give me your word that you won’t,” she demands.

He hesitates.

“Regina!” Cora calls, and they both jump. “Come over here this instant.”

“Robin,” Regina hisses, already taking a step toward the house. “Give me your word. Please - I can’t handle knowing you’ve gotten in trouble again, not for me. _Please,_ please give me your word that you won’t _._ ”

“Robin Locksley?” One of the cops calls to him, and he nods, raises his hands and starts to move in their direction.

Two of the cops head toward him, a third slinks off to the side, and Robin knows what they’re doing. They’re getting ready to jump him if he tries to run, or if he’s got a weapon on him, or if he tries to make a grab for Regina. _Fuck_. This is serious.

“Move away from me,” he tells her, but she shakes her head obstinately. “Regina, please, darling, you have to move away - these coppers are serious.”

Her eyes grow wide as she looks at his face, and then the _stubborn, wonderful, beautiful girl_ , she doesn’t move away, she moves _closer_ to him.

“Get away,” he whispers, “You’re going to get hurt, _please_ , get back, get away.”

“No,” she snaps, grabbing his hand in hers again, threading their fingers tightly together, and staying right next to him as they continue to slowly walk toward the house. Robin makes sure to keep their hands where everyone can see them, makes sure not to move too suddenly, or to otherwise give them a reason to hurt Regina. He doesn’t appear to be under arrest, _yet_ , but they’re certainly suspicious of him, and the last thing he wants is for Regina to get caught in the crossfire if one of these jacked-up dickheads decides to go on a power trip and teach him a lesson.

They make it to the front steps, and Cora is staring daggers at him, imploring Regina to, _Get away from that boy_ and _Come over here_ , but Regina’s flat out ignoring her. The difference between now, and the last confrontation he witnessed between the Mills women is startling.

The cops start questioning him, asking him where he was tonight, what he got up to, how much he had to drink, all of which he tells them is none of their business.

They ask Regina the same things, and she essentially copies his answers, which he’s glad for, because they haven’t told them what they’re here for, and until Robin knows more about the point of this little visit, he’s not saying shit.

One of the cops jogs down to his car and comes back with a clear plastic bag, and holds it up in front of Robin’s face. “You might as well come clean, we found your jacket in the car, son,” the man says.

Robin’s stomach plummets but he tries hard not to react. It’s for sure his jacket, he can see the rip on the collar from the time he caught it, hopping over the chain link fence at the park. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says.

The cop rolls his eyes and tells him, “There’s no use trying to lie about it, you left your wallet right in it.” Fuck. _Fuck-fuck-fuck._ He _did_ leave his wallet in his coat, but he didn’t even realize it - didn’t need it since he wasn’t paying for drinks tonight and didn’t need his ID at Tuck’s. _FUCK._

“How’d you think we found you so quick?” one of the other cops joins in. “You know, if you’re going to go joyriding, you really shouldn’t leave things like this lying around when you ditch the car. You make our job way too easy by doing thickheaded shit like that.”

“Wasn’t me,” Robin says. “Dunno what you’re on about.”

One of the cops reaches for his cuffs and Robin pales. Oh god. Oh no. He’s going to get arrested. Right in front of Regina. Right in front of _everyone._ And what’s worse, he didn’t even do it. He legitimately had nothing to do with whatever crap Will was up to tonight. It just fucking figures.

Resentment and despair flood through him, and Robin shakes his head, takes in a deep breath through his nose and looks up to stare at the sky, wondering when he’ll next see the stars. He wonders if he’ll _ever_ see them again, or if they’re going to lock him up for good this time and he’ll die in prison, victim of some cafeteria brawl, or riot, or gang war, or some other rubbish.

He figures this has to be the bottom of the barrel, the ultimate low, this feeling he has right now.

“Wait, wait, hold on, please,” Regina is pleading with the cops. “Robin and I were at the bar together all night and there’s at least fifty people who can vouch for him,” she says.

“We don’t need your story, sweetheart,” one of the cops tells her smugly, stepping toward her. “Your boyfriend’s been caught, fair and square.”

“But it wasn’t him,” she snaps, not backing away from the cop, not cowering at all. “He gave his cousin his coat - you can ask John - John was right there when he gave it to him, wasn’t he Robin? _Robin_? Tell them.”

Robin keeps his mouth firmly shut. He can’t point the finger at Will. Will’s had about thirty strikes already, one more will lock him up for good this time, and while Robin knows he’s a slag and a bit of a crap friend, Will’s family. He was there for him when Robin needed a place to live, when his own parents turned him out, and when he’d had literally no one else in the entire world. He just, he can’t flip on him now. _He can’t._

“Please be quiet,” he tells her.

“I will not!” Regina bites off, but then she stares at him for a second, and her eyes go wide. “Don’t you dare!” she scolds him, “Don’t do this, Robin, _no._ I won’t let you.”

Regina turns back to the cops. “It wasn’t him - you can ask anybody at that bar - we were there all night,” her eyes dart around the group of people, and she zeroes in on Keith. “You!” she calls, and Keith startles, looks nervous. “You were there. You saw us. Tell them.”

Keith opens his mouth, then looks at Robin and says, “I uh, I might’ve for a second. Can’t remember how long. There were a lot of people at the pub tonight.”

Regina takes a step at Keith, “You son-of-a–”

“Regina!” Cora cuts in, “That’s enough!”

Regina stops talking, but she’s clearly livid, and Robin is afraid of what she’ll do next. He’s never seen her so angry.

“You need to calm down, young lady,” one of the cops says, as another slips the handcuffs on Robin, “or you’re going to find yourself in a cell next to your boyfriend.”

Regina whirls on the cop, takes a step at him - _no-no-no._

“You need to do your fucking job,” she snarls, “or you’re going to find yourself with a lawsuit for a false arrest.”

Several people gasp at Regina’s outburst, but the coppers are proper riled up now, angry with her attitude and disrespect, and Robin’s terrified, feels like he’s got to get control of the situation before something awful happens.

“Regina, please,” he tries. “It’s not worth it. Believe me, it’s not.”

Apparently, that is the exact _wrong_ thing to say, because she says, “Dammit, Robin, yes it is, _you are,_ ” and starts toward him, but the cop between them has had enough of her cheek, and he grabs her by the arm and shoves her backward, which causes her to slip on the ice. She crashes down onto her back with this little yelp of surprise and pain, and then everything goes to shit.

Cora is screaming and Jonathan is yelling and Zelena is wailing, and Robin, well, he charges the cop who dared to lay a hand on his Regina. Because _fuck that guy._ Nobody touches Regina and gets away with it. _Nobody_.

His hands are cuffed behind his back, so the best he can do is bulldoze the guy, but it works, he knocks the fucker right down but the momentum takes Robin down with him, and then they’re brawling in the snow. Or rather, Robin’s getting the life beat out of him by four cops, with his hands cuffed behind his back, and so all he can do is lay there and take it while they knock him around until he’s sufficiently black and blue, his nose busted, lips bleeding, his brow split wide open, before they drag him down the stone steps toward one of their cars.

He doesn’t get to say goodbye to Regina, doesn’t get to say anything to her at all. Instead, he gets chucked into the back of the police car and nearly gets his foot broken when the cop slams the door before he’s pulled it all the way in. Robin shifts around quickly though, ignoring the pain from the beating he just took, shaking his head quickly in an attempt to fling the blood out of his eyes. One of the cops gets in and flips on the lights, and the flashing of the blue and red is mesmerizing, throwing almost a holiday glow across the drive of Gardener Manor. Robin stares out the back window intently, trying hard to see if Regina’s okay, if she got hurt when that bastard pushed her down, and just as the other cop slides into the driver’s seat, she emerges from the little group of people.

She steps out into the driveway behind the cop car, and they stare at each other through the glass of the back window. She’s crying and holding her arm a little awkwardly, but her pretty brown eyes are focused in on him, sharp and intense. She’s shaking her head back and forth, mouthing _No_ at him, and _Please,_ and this overwhelming sense of loss floods every nerve ending of his body, seeps from his pores, pools tears in his eyes and makes her image blurry. She doesn’t want him to take the fall for Will this time, that much is clear. She’s trying to save him, has been telling him over and over that he’s worth something, that he can be something _more_ , and he’s never had that before, never had anyone in his corner cheering him on, let alone fighting for him.

Robin’s never going to see her again. He knows it, knows it for a fact this time - even if he gets out of jail, it’s not like all the other times - you don’t get arrested and fight with the cops on your employer’s front stoop and get to come back next year to work the holiday once more. Not when your employer is Jonathan Gardener. And once again, Robin has no way to contact her, no way at all to reach out and tell her how much he cares for her, or how much she means to him. He doesn’t even have the CDs she gave him anymore - they’re trapped in the cigar lounge now, where they were listening to them just last night, laughing and kissing, and playing Truth or Dare. Funny how fast life changes, how in the blink of an eye the entire world you’re living in can be flipped totally inside out. How one phone call, one conversation, one favor can change the entire trajectory you’re headed on.

Every time Robin has met Regina Mills, it’s been like colliding with a neutron star. She throws him off course so far that he doesn’t even know he’s left the path, until he looks down and notices his feet aren’t on the ground anymore. She’s brilliance, and starlight, and this stalwart magnetism that pulls him apart, but not in a bad way, in a good way, in a way that begs him to stop this nonsense with Will, demands that he perseveres, that he try, try, _try dammit_ , because maybe, just _maybe_ he _himself_ is worth trying for.

The cop car lurches forward and he breaks, starts crying openly, _honestly,_ because it’s goodbye and he knows it, wishes he could leave her with a smile instead of the tears that are falling down her cheeks. She looks so sad and it’s killing him, so he just starts nodding his head, trying to tell her that _Yes,_ _Yes_ , he will do what she’s asking - he won’t martyr himself for Will, and he’ll try to stay out of trouble - and he thinks it brightens her eyes, just a bit, before the car turns and he can’t see her anymore. He tells himself that he’s managed to comfort her, and that because he has nodded, he’s as good as given her his word, so he’d better follow through on it.

He doesn’t know what fate has in store for him, but he knows it won’t be easy, so Robin grits his teeth and steels himself. He’s only nineteen, alone and afraid in the backseat of a police car, with two strikes already on his record, freshly arrested for one crime he didn’t commit and one that he did, with no hope in sight. Things aren’t exactly looking good for him, but at least he knows now that there’s one hell of a girl out there who thinks he’s worth caring about, who thinks he’s _worth it_ , and he’s going to _try_ , he’s going to do his best to show the rest of the world that she’s right.


	3. Part Three - 2004

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been five years since Regina Mills has been to Gardener Manor. Five years since she watched Robin Locksley get carted away in the back of a police car, five years since a day has gone by where she hasn't thought of him. It's 2004 now, and after five years, Regina is finally going back to England. It's Christmas, and she's all grown up, has her Master's degree in hand and potential job opportunities piling up, and the first place she's trying out is London. By a stroke of luck, she reunites with her old friend, but unfortunately, things are not always as simple as they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Regina are now 24 years old.  
> This is where the rating changes to Explicit. So, as with all of my E rated fics please note that there's going to be some filthy language and sexy, dirty things happening from here on out, so if that's not your thing, turn back now.

_Five years later..._

**December, 2004**

“Did you come yet?”

Regina squeezes her eyes shut even harder, her brow furrowing, the muscles in her neck and stomach tight with the strain of trying so desperately to rush a climax that she’s now about ninety percent sure isn’t going to happen.

“No,” she grits out between clenched teeth. She takes a deep breath and tries to relax, begs, “Please, Daniel, keep going, _mm_ , just a little while longer.”

She wants to come, needs it - it’s been forever since he’s gotten her off, _weeks_ since he’s been able to do it without the aid of her vibrator or her own fingers, and while that manages to get the job done, well, it’s just not the same. She needs _him_ to do it for her, needs the rush of being taken care of properly for a change, of him being competent and capable of getting her there all on his own. Especially when she just rode him fast and rough on the living room floor of his apartment, let him lay back with his hands behind his head to take in the view while she did all the work.

Not that he’d had much say in the matter. When she got to his apartment tonight, she’d already been wet, hot, and excited, pent up after an extra tedious violin lesson, and she’d pulled him down to the floor in a hurry, stripped off his clothes as fast as possible, followed quickly by her dress, then she’d climbed on top of him, shoved her thong to the side and fucked him like she hadn’t had it in years.

She’s been preparing practically day and night for her upcoming orchestra audition in London, and she hasn’t had time to see him all week. She had felt bad about it, knew that he was missing her - because he says he’s _always_ missing her - and so to compensate, she’d bought this new set of bright red lingerie to wear for him. It’s mostly see-through lace mesh with strappy lines crossing her back, stomach, and hips, her dark nipples easily visible - an outfit she knew he’d go to pieces over. So when she’d finished her last practice session tonight, she’d dolled up for him as a reward for being so patient while she’s been busy and extra stressed, and she’d come over to play a little catch up for the past few days of celibacy.

It had been a mistake though. She’d hit too many of his kinks at once - woman on top, woman in charge, that red hot lingerie, and he’d lasted about five minutes before he’d spilled into the condom with an obnoxiously unrestrained cry of pleasure. He hadn’t warned her to slow down, hadn’t told her he was close at all, just let her ride him until he was done, then had gone and cleaned up like that was all there was to their brief rendezvous. So she’d had to correct him in that because she’d only succeeded in getting herself more hot and bothered, and with a sigh he’d let her pull him into bed and committed to using his fingers, but not his mouth, citing some ridiculousness about the taste of the condom being the reason for his aversion.

It has now been about three minutes since he started trying to work her over with his hands, and in spite of the fact that they’ve been friends with benefits for almost a year, he apparently still doesn’t understand that the act of him simply shoving his fingers up inside of her just isn’t enough to make her body shake apart with ecstasy.

Ugh. Men.

When she _doesn’t_ start squirming, or moaning, or really, _anything,_ he pumps his fingers faster in her, as if that’s what she needs (it isn’t), and Regina groans. It’s more annoying than anything, he’s not hitting the right spot, the rhythm (or lack thereof) isn’t doing anything for her, and even though she tries to guide him, he’s not listening, not adjusting how she needs. Much to her dismay, the hot coiled tension that she’s been trying so desperately to coax into something more starts to lose its edge, even though she attempts to hold onto it, tries to use some of her tried and true erotic fantasies to keep the desire burning - she can’t - and she whimpers with disappointment.

“There you go,” Daniel smirks, misinterpreting her.

“This, this isn’t working,” she complains, and he, _god,_ he stops.

“ _Again_?” he sighs, withdrawing his hands from her and dropping his head down to rest on her bare stomach. “Do you uh, you want me to keep going or do you just want to take over?”

She sighs and shimmies her underwear back up. “Just forget it.”

“This is happening a lot, Regina,” he smooths his palm over her hip. “Have you thought about, I don’t know…”

“Have I thought about what?”

“It’s just,” he props his chin on her ribs and stares up at her, his dark blue eyes concerned and honest in the low light of his bedroom. “Shouldn’t it be easier than this? Maybe you should see a doctor. Maybe there’s something… wrong… down there.”

“You think there’s something wrong with me?” she sits up and pushes him off of her, “Because I can’t come in two seconds, you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“Be fair, you know I don’t mean it like that,” Daniel reaches for her, snags her around the waist and tugs her back into bed before she can get up. “I think you’re super hot, honey, I’ve never been able to hide that,” she purses her lips but doesn’t disagree, because no, he hasn’t been able to hide that. Daniel has had a crush on her since the day they met, and he was terrible at pretending that he didn’t.

“I’m just worried about you,” he continues, kisses her cheek, and tips her face to his with a gentle tug on her chin. “It’s this crazy thing that happens when you care about someone,” he presses a quick kiss to her lips, “Besides, we talked about this - you know you have to stop taking all of my concerns about you as something to get offended about if this is ever going to work.”

She wants to argue with him, but she bites her tongue instead. She likes Daniel, they’re friends, and he’s been a good one. He’s a nice guy, dependable and sweet with good intentions, even if he can be a smidge bossy, and he isn’t the most exciting or thoughtful person on the planet. She met him just after she started her master’s program two years ago - she was studying music, he was studying architecture - but ever since they graduated, he’s been pushing for more than just sex, _a lot more_. In fact, he’s made it quite clear that he wants a full on relationship, has even gone so far as to have a little chat with her mother about his intentions, which made Cora extremely happy, and seriously pissed Regina off to the point that it made her think twice about what she’s doing with him in the first place.

Rationally, she knows that she _should_ want more with him. Everything about him is what she should be looking for in her partner. Aside from the fact that they can clearly get along, he’s attractive, educated, ambitious, and perhaps most surprising of all, he’s even managed to earn an exceedingly rare _Cora Mills Stamp of Approval._ It’s not that Regina cares about her mother’s opinion of who she’s dating, it’s just shocking that _anyone_ can pass the incredibly high standards Cora has set, and the fact that Daniel has won her over is not only impressive, but one less headache for Regina to worry about. Her mother can be a nightmare to deal with when she doesn’t approve, so the idea that Regina wouldn’t have to fight with Cora over something as important as this would be a huge relief… which is just one more reason it’s such a shame that she can’t seem to find much interest in Daniel as more than a friend.

“You’re right,” she huffs, kisses him back and murmurs, “Sorry.”

Daniel’s lips turn up in that happy, sweet smile he always seems to give so freely, and they get dressed without saying much else. She’s still buzzing inside, uncomfortable from a need that went unsatisfied, but she knows she’s not going to get any satisfaction here, so she tries to ignore it, does her best to push it to the back of her mind.

They have dinner, then curl up on the couch together to watch TV. Almost immediately, Daniel gets completely entranced by some series that goes into painful detail about what kind of skills and crafts were needed to build a castle in 13th century France ( _snore_ ). Meanwhile, Regina spends the time thinking about her upcoming audition and going over her list of things she still needs to pack for her trip to England, before she calls it an early night.

She rarely stays over at Daniel’s, and she _never_ allows him to sleep at her place. She doesn’t like sharing her space, has never been able to fall asleep next to a man, no matter how well he’s worn her out. Well, that's true except for those couple of times with _that one guy,_ but they were so young that she's pretty sure it doesn't count. It just, it’s not something she’s comfortable with - it makes her nervous, makes her feel extremely agitated, and she never gets any rest on the rare occasion that it does happen. She finds that it’s better if she just avoids the situation entirely, that if they have sex early on in the evening and then do whatever else afterward, then she can leave or kick her date out without the awkward, “but it’s late, and we’re already in bed,” argument getting in the way. Daniel is so used to this now that he doesn’t even ask to stay over anymore.

On her way out, Daniel gives her a hug and wishes her luck at her practice session tomorrow.

“Oh hey,” he says, just as she’s turning to go, “Your mother called me today.”

Oh god, what sort of meddling has Cora done this time?

Frozen in the doorway, she tries to steady her voice and asks, “Oh? What did she want?”

He smiles brightly and says, “She wanted to know what my plans were over the holidays, and since my internship is over, she invited me to England with you guys.”

“To… to England?”

“Yeah isn’t that great?” he beams. “Think of how much time we’ll get to spend together,” he gives her another hug and busses a quick kiss to her lips. “I know you have your audition right away when we get there, but after that we’ll get to spend Christmas _and_ New Year's together, and then another entire week, just relaxing with your family while we wait to hear if you’ve gotten the job.”

“I… you’re coming to England with us?” she repeats dumbly, totally unprepared for this change in plans.

Truth be told, she had been looking forward to the break from him, to just having some time to think about things, to focus on her audition with the London Symphony Orchestra and then settling into the solitude Gardener Manor always provides while she tries to figure out her life. She needs to formulate a plan for what to do if she doesn’t nail this audition, if she has to come back to New York as a failure and try for the hundredth time to land a spot as a first section violinist in some other symphony orchestra. It has to be somewhere far enough away from her mother that she can’t feel her breathing down her neck every second of the day, but somewhere respectable too - somewhere she can build a future as the musician she has promised herself, and her father’s memory, that she would become.

There are other things she needs to think about too, though. She needs to understand why she isn’t madly in love with this perfect guy who has been there for her for the last two years. A guy who seems to really care about her and wants to be a part of her life, and why a very _imperfect_ guy still haunts her thoughts, still twists a tight knot of anticipation and anxiety in the pit of her stomach whenever she allows herself to think of dark alleys, fine cigars, fresh snow, and cheap whiskey.

Regina hasn’t been to England in five years, not since _that night_ , the one where she watched that sweet, imperfect boy get arrested, beaten, and thrown into a police car in some heartbreaking, extraordinary, protective display of affection for her. And even though it’s been a long time, she’s only ever managed to put together a few pieces of the story of what happened to him after that.

She knows that her mother threw a fit about the way that crooked police officer, John Prince, shoved her down, that Cora threatened to sue the police department and that somehow those threats got Robin leniency for his _assault of a police officer_ charge. Regina’s sister, Zelena, told her that she didn’t think Robin did any jail time for the bogus joyriding charge that he was taken in for, but aside from that, Zelena claimed she didn’t know much else. As far as Regina knows, Jonathan Gardener, Zelena’s father, had never hired Robin to work for him at the Manor again, and honestly, Zelena didn’t care about what happened to him. Robin was _beneath her_ , completely off Zelena’s radar, so even though she had known him since they were children, he couldn’t benefit her as an adult with a criminal record, so her sister had no interest in what became of him.

So Regina isn’t sure what has happened to Robin, doesn’t know how he’s doing, or what life has brought him. She doesn’t know if his cousin Will is still leading him into trouble, or if Robin has been able to separate himself from him and make a better life. She’s dying to find out, though, because Robin occupies her thoughts much more often than is probably healthy.

It’s embarrassing, but she still thinks about him nearly every day, about the way they were when they were together, the way he made her feel so good inside, so happy, so _whole_. Regina longs to recreate those feelings, to know if they were real, or if they are just some sort of overly romanticized teenaged memory she has, a fantasy she’s formulated in order to avoid accepting something, _someone_ , that’s right in front of her. Someone who’s a great match, who should, in every way be her ideal partner.

It’s just… when she’s with Daniel, she doesn’t _feel_ like she did when she was with Robin. She’s been waiting and waiting and waiting for it to happen, has been friends with Daniel for two years, sleeping with him for almost the entire past twelve months, and still, when she’s with him there’s just… there’s _nothing_. No butterflies, no anticipation, no heart-pounding, mouthwatering, jaw-dropping, breath-stealing need for his touch, his kiss, his attention. _Nothing._

Back in 1999, Robin Locksley had her feeling all of those things the second he gave her that beautiful smile of his - his dimples on full display, bright blue eyes shining - as he threw her suitcase up on his broad, muscled shoulder and stuttered through his awful greeting of, “You look, uh, uh, um…” And if her memory is accurate, the feeling only intensified with every added moment they spent together, with every heated argument, every passing glance, every whisper, every kiss, every intimate touch that grew more and more bold, more daring, until…

 _God,_ she misses him.

“That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” Daniel prompts. “You don’t mind me tagging along, right? I figured we could really use the time together, since you’ve been so busy preparing for your audition lately.”

Regina finds herself nodding, because she doesn’t know what else to do, or say, or how to get out of it without looking like a bitch. What is she supposed to do, confess that she doesn’t want him there, just in case her crush from five years ago happens to show up with his heavily muscled thighs, chest, and arms, all single, and handsome, and by some stroke of insane luck, still interested in her?

For some reason, she doesn’t think Daniel would like that very much.

But lord help her if Robin _does_ show up, because she has no idea how she’ll juggle the two of them, or what she’ll do if Robin actually happens to be available _and_ interested in her. She’s not dating Daniel, they’re not together and he knows that, but she’s well aware that he wants more with her, and she can practically see the hope glittering in his sincere eyes. Regina can tell from the way he’s staring at her, all sweet and excited, that this trip is going to mean a lot more to him than it ever will to her, and she feels a pang of guilt for that, though she feels helpless to stop it. She can’t force herself to match his intensity; she’s tried, but she’s only ever felt that way once and she doesn’t know if she’ll _ever_ feel things like that again, for _anyone_. Daniel is a good guy, a good friend and there’s not really anything wrong with him. She would break things off, but she’s not willing to throw away their potential relationship over some ridiculous fantasy that probably didn’t even exist to begin with.

So, she’s a bitch for agreeing to let him come along, but she supposes she’d be a bitch for telling him to stay home, too. At least this way he gets to go to England for a few weeks, and who knows? Maybe they’ll spend all of this time together at Gardener Manor, just like she used to do with that other boy, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll fall in love with Daniel Colter. He certainly seems like a good fit in just about every way that Regina _should_ want… if only she could convince herself to want him.

* * *

They’ve been in England for two days, and Regina’s audition to join the first violin section of the London Symphony Orchestra cannot come soon enough. The waiting is making her miserable, driving her insane with anticipation, and she practices until her fingers are cramped, her neck is sore, and even her calluses have calluses. She’s ready for it, _knows_ she’s ready, she just needs her chance to prove it.

It has been really strange being back in this old house after such a long absence. She’s not quite sure what she was expecting this time, certainly a warmer welcome than the one she was given. But no, it’s been business as usual, where she’s been completely ignored by everyone, except of course, for Daniel, who thinks everything is _awesome_ and keeps going on and on about the structural design of the place. He’s never traveled outside of America, and since he’s just graduated with his master’s degree in architecture, the historic Gardener Manor is like an extra special treat to him, and he’s like a kid in a candy store, completely over-excited about every nuance of the old house. He’s obsessed with pointing out his favorite parts of the aesthetics to her and trying to find out _specifically_ what materials everything is made of, to which she has no clue. It was cute for about the first twenty minutes, but after that, well, it got to be a little much for her, so Regina pawned him off on Jonathan and has been avoiding him ever since, so she doesn’t snap at him and ruin his good time.

She’s had other things occupying her thoughts, things she’d rather Daniel didn’t catch onto, though he already knows all about Robin Locksley and most of what happened on the other occasions she spent her holiday break here in England. It’s not something she’s told many of her friends, but she shared it with Daniel, because when they met she had still been pathetically nursing her heartache, and honestly, he kept offering to listen, kept lending his shoulder for her to cry on, and after a while, he wore her down. Daniel is a good listener, and supportive too; he’s helped her deal with the pain of feeling like she abandoned Robin to his fate, like she’s failed him, like she got him into trouble and then just slunk back to America. He convinced her that under the circumstances there was little she could do, that Robin made his own choices and Regina did what she needed to do.

All of Daniel’s reasoning made sense when she was still in New York, safe with an ocean between her and Robin, where the whole thing seemed unreal, more like a fairy tale with an unhappy ending than this terrible experience she had, but none of it seems to make any sense anymore. Now that she’s standing here, everywhere she looks she _feels_ Robin, sees herself running down the hallways with him, laughing and holding hands, smiling and kissing him, and it elicits a deep pain in her stomach that nearly doubles her over with the intense longing and loss that shocks right down to her soul.

Yesterday Regina had tried to talk to Zelena about Robin, had tried to get her to tell her something, _anything_ about him, but she had come away thoroughly disappointed. It’s not like Regina expected much help from her, but her sister had given her nothing except for a huge dose of attitude while she informed her that she was much too busy to be bothered with something as trivial as the life story of a screw up like Robin Locksley. Regina asked a few other people - members of the household staff that she remembers from when she was here before - about him, but they all gave her suspicious looks and told her they didn’t know what had happened to him, though she could tell they were lying to her. She has run into dead end after dead end when it comes to finding out what happened to him, and she’s not about to give up, truly, but she can’t focus on that right now. Right now she has to commit everything she has to tomorrow’s audition, and once that’s done, she can shift her attention to figuring out just what the hell is going on.

But it feels as if the world is standing still around her, like she’s living in a strange little bubble where the hands of time have completely stopped, and she swears she’s going to spontaneously combust if she doesn’t find some way to relieve this negative, anxious energy soon.

She finds Daniel curled up in one of the chairs in the large den by the roaring fireplace, reading a book and sipping on a mug of hot cocoa. He smiles when he sees her and coaxes her over, then tries to get her to share his drink, which she declines because he’s added cinnamon to it, which she detests (and _he knows that, dammit)_.

She tries to sit with him for a while, stretches out sideways across his lap as he continues to read, but she can’t stop fidgeting, playing with the collar of his shirt and shifting around as she tries and fails to get comfortable. Eventually, he sets his book down and finishes off his cocoa with an exaggerated gulp and tip of his mug, then sets it off to the side and grins at her.

“What?”

“You make it super hard to concentrate,” he rubs the tops of her thighs.

“I’m bored,” she complains. “Let’s go do something.”

“I _was_ doing something,” he counters, “but, now that you’re in my lap, I can think of something more interesting to do…” Daniel slips one hand between her thighs and starts to slide it slowly up, up, up.

Her heart rate accelerates but that’s not exactly what she was hoping for, especially considering last night’s disappointment, where once again Daniel got off in record time while she was left aching with need, thanks to his half-hearted attempt to help her out before he petulantly gave up. This time he blamed his lack of enthusiasm and her “difficulty” on jet lag, and she had wandered back to her own room in a dissatisfied daze, where she just couldn’t find the heart to take things into her own hands. She’s starting to wonder if there really is something wrong with her, if he’s right. Maybe she should go see a doctor to figure out why she can’t just come at the drop of a hat like Daniel seems to be so convinced she should.

Regina pushes his hand from where he’s slowing working it up her inner thigh and says, “How about a walk outside? I need some fresh air.”

He tips his head to the side, then gives her his best mischievous grin, which makes him look a little bit boyish, but not at all devious. “Or… we could go up to my room. I’m sure that I can come up with a lotta ways for us to get some exercise, if that’s what you’re after. Cardio, strength training, if we put our heads together, I know we can wear you out.”

Regina rolls her eyes and pushes herself up off of his lap. She runs her fingers through her hair, the thick, glossy strands shorter than they have ever been, the blunt ends curling under to tickle her neck as she huffs, “I said I wanted to get some fresh air, not exercise.”

He frowns, “Oh. You were serious,” he mutters, then tries to smile. “Alrighty, let me go and grab my coat and stuff.”

They bundle up and take a stroll through the back garden, admiring the way the snow has blanketed the tall, well-maintained hedges and how the sunlight makes them sparkle today. It’s a beautiful afternoon, the sun is just starting to set and the effect on the horizon is stunning, casting yellow, orange, and pink hues across the open field that lies to the west of the house. The rest of the manor is surrounded by a sprawling, dense forest, one she’s never had a chance to explore but which is equally picturesque, especially when glazed over with snow like this. It’s all very peaceful out here, and Regina takes a moment to take in the English countryside, to appreciate it in a way she never has on her previous visits to Gardener Manor.

She closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of snow and pine, the cold air reddening her cheeks while Daniel wanders off to check out the gazebo. Just when she’s starting to relax, to feel some of the stress release from her neck and shoulders, there is a loud metallic _clang!_ that startles her out of her reverie. Her eyes snap open and she turns toward the house, trying to figure out what caused the noise, and she spots a large work truck backed up to the side entrance.

The side of the truck is painted with a fancy, flowing script lettering down the side that, even from a couple hundred feet or so away, Regina can clearly read _Fitzwalter Party Planners_. Two men - one rather large, one more average in size - are climbing in and out of the back of it, hauling tables and chairs and other items into the house, and as she studies the scene before her, she sees that it must have been the ramp to the truck bed that she heard drop. She surmises that they must be here to set up for the Christmas Eve party Zelena is throwing in a couple of days - it is _so_ like her sister to demand everything to be set up ridiculously far in advance so that she can, no doubt, scrutinize every detail to pieces before the actual event. Zelena inherited far more than just their mother’s looks, that’s for sure.

There is something familiar in the way one of the men moves that catches her attention - the way he easily hefts a bench up onto his shoulder and carries it inside gives her a feeling that’s almost like… like deja vu. Without realizing it, she starts walking in that direction, her eyes trained on him, trying desperately to get a better look at his face - he has a short stubbled beard, is blonde - her footsteps careful but steady along the well-shoveled brick footpath that leads up to the side entrance of the house. As Regina moves closer and closer, she tips her head to the side in wonder, her heart pounding with the anticipatory rhythm of - _what-if what-if what-if_ \- and she almost sees him when suddenly the loose tendrils of her jet-black hair catch in the winter breeze and flutter across her face to catch on her eyelashes. She brushes annoyedly at her hair, swiping the rogue strands out of her eyes, but she’s thoroughly distracted long enough for the man to turn away and go about his business before she so much as catches a glimpse of his profile. _Damn._

But then, from somewhere behind her, Daniel shouts, “Hey, Regina! Wait up!” and in front of her, the man she’s been staring at snaps to attention, then immediately turns in her direction.

And then she is running.

There are no thoughts coursing through her head, no concerns about how this might look, no familiar propriety that might cause her to hesitate. There is nothing other than sheer _relief_ echoing out from the quick staccato beat of Regina’s boots as they slam into the brick pavers.

She gets about fifteen feet from him before even a hint of a doubt flickers, but thankfully - oh, thank god - he takes it away, because he closes the rest of the gap with a few hard steps of his own, reaches out and grabs her around the waist, just as she launches herself into his arms.

_Robin._

He spins her around as elation floods her veins, and she buries her face in his neck, _needing_ to get his hot skin on hers. On instinct, Regina nuzzles right under the high collar of his wool coat and presses her forehead to the thick cord of muscle beneath his ear, then she breathes in deep, reveling in the familiar cedar and soap of his cologne and that warm, earthy scent that is purely _him_. She tightens her arms around his shoulders, and when he dips down to curl both of his hands around the backs of her thighs, she wraps her legs around him and nearly sobs with the solace she feels of being held so completely in his embrace.

His grip on her is tight, and she’s shaking a little, breathing much too fast for the short sprint it took her to fling herself at him. While Robin holds her - his own face tucked into the side of her neck, his nose in her hair - a hundred emotions _slam_ into her, and she’s torn between wanting to be as close to him as possible and wanting to see him. She wants to run her eyes all over him, wants to look at every inch of him and make sure he’s as solid and okay as he feels beneath her hands right now.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he rasps in her ear.

She adjusts her grip on his shoulders, slides her hands up and into his hair and threads her fingers into the soft, dark blonde strands at the back of his head. She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and another to the bottom of his jaw, his scruffy cheek, his temple, then closes her eyes and rests the bridge of her nose against his cheekbone, trying not to cry as regret and relief war for dominance inside of her.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers, her lips catching on his soft stubble. “Are you okay?”

“Better now,” he shifts her up a little and she manages a small smile. He walks them a few steps and turns, then sets her down on one of the large fenders that curves over the wheels of the work truck. “There,” he pulls back just enough so that their faces aren’t blurry when they look at each other. “Good god, it’s been ages since I’ve had a proper look at you, darling.”

She nods and quickly pulls off her gloves, then cups his face in her hands. He looks so similar, but at the same time, _so_ different. One thing is certain though - he’s all grown up now, mature and confident in a way that he wasn’t before. She can see it in his eyes, in the self-assured, purposeful way he carries himself now. He’s physically changed too. He’s not as lanky, he’s actually _bulky_ now, his body thick with muscle, especially his chest, shoulders, back, and arms, if what she can feel is any indication. He’s no longer clean shaven either, he has this short beard that feels wonderful beneath her fingertips, and his hair is longer, soft now too, not gelled into spiked perfection. God, he looks _incredible_.

“You look stunning,” he says, reaching up to tuck her short hair behind her ear, and she smiles as he mirrors her thoughts.

“I’m exactly the same,” Regina shakes her head, “ _You_ though, you look so, you’re, I mean…”

Robin smirks. “Usually I’m the one stumbling through our greeting,” she blushes and he combs his fingers deep into her hair at her temple, “Nice of you to take the pressure off of me this time.”

His teasing causes a rush of excitement to flare through her in a way that makes her abs clench, and she gives him a watery smile, then slides her hands down to his neck and starts pulling him toward her. He’s smiling too, those beautiful dimples of his as deep and perfect as she remembers, his bright blue eyes shining, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he comes closer and closer.

“So this must be the legendary Robin Locksley!” Daniel calls, panting, apparently still a few steps away.

_Shit._

She had completely forgotten about him, and, if she’s being honest, she doesn’t mean that only in the way that she had forgotten that he was following behind her - she had pretty much forgotten that he existed in general. But to be fair, for the last five minutes or so, she forgot that _everyone_ existed except for Robin, so that’s probably fine. Right?

“Regina?” Daniel interrupts, closer now. “Would you mind introducing us?”

She hasn’t moved from where she’s clinging to Robin, sitting on the fender with her arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala. And she has no plans on moving in the near future, either. No plans on doing anything that involves separating herself from him - not when she just got him back.

Robin’s fingers rub soothingly against the base of her skull, and he dips down to touch his forehead to hers.

“Who’s this?” he asks quietly.

“Just a friend,” she immediately whispers, bumps his nose with hers in reassurance and repeats, “just a friend.”

He nods and brings his other hand up to cup her cheek while her hands slip down to grasp at the lapels of his coat, desperate to keep him as near as possible.

“I’ve gotta finish up here,” he tips his head to indicate the work he was doing before she threw herself back into his life. “And then John and I’ve got another delivery after this, but I should be off ‘round seven.”

“Seven,” she parrots, nodding and stroking her fingers up and down the cheap wool. There’s a tear in the collar of his coat that draws her eye, and she reaches up with one hand to toy with it.

Robin’s thumbs caress her jawline, and he smiles at her, his eyes soft and sweet as he nods and asks, “Join me for a drink at Tuck’s Pub tonight, say, eight?”

She frowns before she can help it - eight seems like forever away, even though it’s only a few hours - and he interprets her expression just as fast as she makes it. He has always been able to read her like a book.

“Seven-thirty, then?” he amends, raises his brows and boldly runs his thumb across her downturned lips.

Again, she feels that hot rush fling through her belly, and _god_ , it’s like her body has a mind of its’ own, because when his thumb swipes across her lips for the second time, she kisses it. His breath catches, but - _damn -_ then he does it again, so Regina repeats her kiss and tells him, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He smirks, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Robin curls his thumb over the edge of her bottom lip and tugs it down for a second, his eyes hot and intense, but then he’s backing away, carefully extracting himself from her so he can turn and finally shake hands with Daniel.

She doesn't catch what the two of them say to each other. She’s definitely in shock, but the world around her seems to pass by without regard to the overwhelmed state she has slipped into. Her mind races with possibilities and the excitement of getting to see Robin again tonight, with a thousand questions she wants to ask him, a million scenarios of how things might play out. Eventually, Daniel guides her back toward the house when the big work truck takes off, though she can’t help but to stare at the receding tail lights with this awful sense of melancholy, her palms itching, feet shuffling, remembering the last time she watched him leave.

Idly, she wonders why this time doesn’t feel that much less painful.

* * *

Regina spends so much time getting ready to meet Robin at the pub that she would have been late, had Daniel not been urging her along. He practically begged to go with her, saying how he was dying to get to know the guy she has spoken so highly of since they had met. She had shrugged him off at first, had come up with several reasons why she’d rather he not go, but then, right in front of her mother, Daniel started spouting off about how he didn’t like her walking alone in the dark and talking about how dangerous it was, rattling off statistics about women getting abducted and mugged, which had not only earned her a stinging reprimand from Cora, but had somehow convinced Zelena to join them.

So now, at precisely seven-thirty, the _three_ of them are walking through the door of Tuck’s Pub to meet Robin, and from the way Robin’s face falls she can see that he’s as disappointed in the situation as she is. He’s polite though, stands up when they come over to the booth he’s secured, shakes hands with Daniel, kisses Zelena on the cheek, but then he pulls Regina into a hug, which he holds for much longer than necessary, though she certainly doesn’t mind.

“Was hoping it was just going to be us,” he says in her ear, arms tight around her waist.

“I know,” she squeezes the thick, rounded muscles of his deltoids, “I tried, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he kisses her cheek, and she leans into it, “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” His hands flatten on her lower back and he rubs them in slow circles.

“Are you two going to join us or what?” Zelena barks from where she’s already made herself comfortable in the booth.

Regina turns to see Zelena sitting on one side of the booth, Daniel on the other, and again, disappointment courses through her. She had wanted to sit with Robin, but with the way those two have divided up, there’s no way for that to happen now.

“Hey mate,” Robin lets go of Regina and turns to Daniel, “Surely you wouldn’t mind sharing a bench with Zelena tonight. Regina and I have about five years’ worth of conversation to catch up on. It would be terribly rude for us to talk across the table instead of next to each other, don’t you agree?”

Regina’s brows shoot up. There’s that brand-new confidence of his shining through again, that confidence she’s not used to seeing from him, but which she’s incredibly grateful for. She studies his profile as he stares Daniel down, who looks _very_ averse to getting up from his spot in the booth, but after seeing that Robin is not about to back down, reluctantly gets up and slides around to share a side with Zelena.

Robin turns back to her. “After you, milady,” he grins, holding his hand out for her to slide into the booth first, and her memory flashes back to the first time he let her into the cigar lounge. _God_ , has it really been seven years since they first met?

“This _is_ a pub isn’t it?” Zelena complains, drumming her bright green painted fingernails on the table.

“Yeah?” Robin shrugs.

“Well, where are the drinks?”

Robin smirks at Regina. “What’ll you have?”

She thinks for a moment, then tells him, “Seven and seven.”

Robin takes the rest of their orders - gin and tonic for Daniel, apple martini for Zelena, and heads up to the bar, where he waits for the drinks. She tries to be patient, but after about five minutes, Regina can’t stand it, it already feels like too long away from him, so she joins him with the excuse of helping him to carry the four glasses.

“Ah Regina, nice to see ya,” Tuck greets her, extending his hand over the bar, and kissing the back of hers when she takes it.

“Likewise,” she smiles, tries to pay him some attention, but finds it difficult when Robin’s hand nonchalantly curls around her hip.

“Which one of these drinks is s’posed to be yers?” Tuck asks, indicating the lineup of glasses in front of him.

“The seven and seven,” she discreetly shifts closer to Robin, so that now her hip and thigh are pressing against his. She can’t seem to help herself, he looks so good tonight, dressed in jeans and a heather gray long-sleeved henley that strains across his muscular chest and arms when he shifts in just the slightest. Regina feels like she’s constantly being pulled toward him, like he’s a magnet and she can’t stop drifting in his direction. He has this strange effect on her, where her whole body feels tingly and warm when she’s near him. Tingly and warm and alive. Tingly and warm and alive and _aroused_.

_Shit._

Tuck gives her a big smile and dumps out the glass he had started to prepare for her. “Lemme get ya somethin’ better’n this swill, love. Watch the bar a minute, Rob.” He rinses the glass and shuffles off through a door at the back of the bar.

“Well, well,” Robin turns to her and leans one elbow on the bar, “seems you’ve still got the old man’s favor.”

“Oh?”

“Well, who could blame him?” Robin squeezes her hip. “It’s not easy to forget a beautiful woman who kisses like you do, then pays a twenty-pound bar tab and leaves a hundred-pound tip.”

Her face burns with embarrassment. Oh god, she had completely forgotten about that. She’d been so angry at Robin that night - so stupid, jealous, and annoyed, that when she left the bar, she’d insisted Tuck take her money for whatever their bill had been. When the old man wouldn’t tell her how much they owed, she’d just left everything she had in her wallet sitting on the bar for him, and it had turned out to be a _lot_ more money than she realized, but it had been too late to take it back.

Tuck returns a second later with a glass half full of a rich, amber colored liquid and a proud little smile turning up his pudgy wrinkled face. He cuts a slice of lemon, then of lime and adds a shot of soda water, then slides the glass over to her. The extra attention he’s put into the _delicious_ drink he’s made for her causes Regina to melt, especially remembering the typical careless, casualness with which Tuck mixes drinks. She thanks him, tells him how good the drink is, and blushes from head to toe when Tuck tells Robin to make sure he specifies which drinks are Regina’s for the rest of the night, so he knows to make them _right_.

Drinks in hand, they finally rejoin the others, and it doesn’t take long for them to fall deeply into conversation.

“So you’re a party planner now?” she asks, taking a slow sip of her drink, savoring the expensive whiskey. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Not exactly,” he’s turned toward her, one arm stretched out along the back of the booth, the other propped on the table, all of his attention directed at her. “To be honest, after I got arrested back in ‘99, I got sacked from all of the jobs I was working then, so I had to find something else. But, with my criminal record, it’s a bit hard to get a job just anywhere,” he traces circles on the worn, torn leather of the backrest, just next to her shoulder. “But uh, you remember my friend Marian, yeah? Her parents, the Fitzwalters, they own a party planning business, and they needed someone who could help set up and tear down, lift heavy stuff, make deliveries and all that, so Marian put in a good word and with a little convincing, they hired me on.”

Regina has a twinge of annoyance at the mention of Marian, but she does her best to fight it down. She knows she has no right to feel that way, but just the mention of that clingy, overly-touchy, boundary-crossing other woman is enough to set her teeth on edge.

“When _is_ Marian getting back from her grandparents?” Zelena butts in, tapping her hand on the table for attention. “It’s been ages since I’ve spoken with her, and I only trust _her_ to make sure the decorators actually understand the difference between mistletoe and holly.”

Robin barely spares her a glance and says quickly, “Tomorrow.”

“She’s coming over straight away, though, right?” Zelena presses. “I can’t believe she took time off so close to my party,” she huffs. “Robin? Are all of you people…” Regina shoots her a look that clearly says she’s out of line, and Zelena rolls her eyes, but corrects, “The planning staff, _whatever_ , you’re all coming to stay tomorrow night, aren’t you? Just in case?”

Robin nods, looking completely unphased by Zelena’s bigotry, but Regina knows better. She can see the tension in his jaw, can see the white of his knuckles where he has balled his hand into a fist against his thigh, and even though he’s acting like Zelena’s idiocy doesn’t bother him, she knows how much it does. Being treated second class has _always_ been a sore subject for him, and she hates her half-sister for behaving this way. Regina itches to touch him, wishes she could take his hand and comfort him, that she could rub the stress right out of his curled up fingers and remind him of how valuable he truly is. But Daniel is openly pouting about just having to sit on the other side of the booth, and she knows if she reaches for Robin right now, Daniel is likely to say something stupid.

Zelena smirks, then narrows her eyes and looks smugly at Regina. “It’s so hard to keep track of who all is coming. We have so many people staying that I had to double you all up, but I’m sure you and Marian won’t mind sharing. It’s not like you don’t do it every day.”

Regina’s heart plummets - she stops breathing - swears alarm bells are blaring in her ears.

What does that mean?

What the _hell_ does Zelena mean, _they do it every day_?!

Robin glares at Zelena, who looks quite pleased with herself, then he turns back to Regina.

“Marian and I are uh… housemates,” Robin tells her. Zelena guffaws, mutters _right_ , and he scowls at her.

Zelena’s smile widens at Regina’s poorly disguised distress, and Regina takes a long drink of her seven and seven to hide her face. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, her pulse feels thick and slow, like she can’t quite push all the blood through, so it just sloshes around in her veins without really doing anything. She feels lightheaded and foolish, can hear his voice echoing in her ears five years ago, _I give you my word - I’ve got no interest in Marian. Not now, not ever._

So much for that.

“Will’s a right mess,” he blurts out, his bright blue eyes wide, honest. “Has been for a few years now.”

Regina raises her brows, saddened over the situation with his cousin, but not surprised. Will Scarlet has always been bad news, she could tell he was _serious_ trouble from the second she met him, but she’s confused as to what _he_ has to do with Marian and her goddamn velcro hands.

“He’s always been a crap flatmate,” Robin explains, “But it got to the point where he started disappearing for months at a time, and eventually I couldn’t afford our old flat without him.” His sincere expression implores her to listen, “Couldn’t really afford it with him either,” he tries to joke, then cringes when Regina doesn’t laugh with him - she doesn’t even smile - and he takes a sip of his beer.

“But I couldn’t get a place of my own when I can’t pass a bloody background check,” he shrugs. “Marian and I have been friends for ages, and you know, she’s been dating Will off and on for as long as I can remember. When Will and I got kicked out of our place, she offered me the spare room at her house - she knows how Will is, she’s been through hell because of him too - and, uh, it all just worked out. So I’ve been living there ever since.”

“I see,” she mumbles, taking another long drink. She doesn’t like it, the whole thing makes her feel exceptionally irritated, but it’s not really her business to like it or not, and she shouldn’t judge him for the decisions he’s made. She can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him the past few years, how difficult it _still_ must be, and she can only assume whatever shit Will has been up to has been unpleasant at best.

“I’d say it worked out splendidly,” Zelena adds, throwing a knowing look at Regina. “Marian is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. As are you, Robin. It’s a perfect match.”

“It’s been good,” Robin agrees, “I can’t argue that.”

Robin smiles at her, all adorable and content with his story, but Regina feels sick, feels like her entire world has gone dark around the edges, like thick, heavy toxic smoke has filled up the room and she’s suffocating under it.

An intense wave of jealousy tightens Regina’s lips into a straight line, and she curls her hands into fists beneath the table, her French tipped nails biting into her palms, nearly cutting her with the force she applies. It stings, so Regina picks up her drink and downs almost half of what’s left, then stares at the contents, warring with the dark thoughts swirling through her mind.

She should be happy for him. She _is_ happy for him. She’s happy he’s happy, that living with Marian is a _perfect match._

She just needs to get over the fact that she’s spent five stupid years thinking _her_ perfect match was _him_ , and that’s why she’s resisted this thing with Daniel, because she’s been holding out hope like a fucking fool, thinking Robin felt the same way about her. _God she’s such a silly, stupid girl._

Rationally, she knows that their time together was a _really_ long time ago, knows that things have changed and she can’t expect Robin not to have moved on in her absence. That would be ridiculous _and_ hypocritical, especially since Daniel is here on this trip for the sole purpose of seeing if they can take their friendship to the next level.

And _so what_ if she’s feeling just a tiny bit pressured into this situation with him? _So what_ if her mother booked Daniel’s airfare before either of them bothered to ask Regina if it was okay if he came along? _So what_ if his bedroom at the manor is directly across the hall from hers, so that even when she tries to have a couple of minutes to herself, he’s never more than a few steps away? And _so what_ if Cora and Daniel only seem to approve of her auditioning with orchestras in cities where the architectural career prospects for Daniel are excellent?

Like Daniel has tried to tell her, she needs to loosen up and allow these types of things because he cares about her, he’s concerned about her, so he’s becoming more involved in her life, and she should be happy about that. She just needs to get used to it - he promises that she will, with time.

And anyway it’s not like she _has_ to try to make it work with him just because she _should_ , just because it makes her mother happy. She doesn’t _have_ to do anything.

She’s totally in control, yeah, it’s completely her decision.

Everything is fine. Just fine. This is how it’s supposed to be - Regina’s figuring things out with Daniel and Robin is happy living with Marian, who apparently, is his _perfect fucking match_.

She rolls her eyes.

When she finally looks up from her drink, Robin is giving her this knowing smile, and it makes her feel like he’s laughing at her. It’s annoying, so she diverts her attention to the rest of the group for the first time this evening, notices Daniel has somehow already downed his first drink and is working on a second. His cheeks are flushed as he rocks a little to the music blaring over the shoddy old speakers, and she can tell he’s well on his way to catching a buzz. Good. He’s much more fun when he’s a little bit drunk.

“What’ve you got up to?” Robin asks her, his thumb grazing her shoulder by the booth and bringing her attention back to him. “Are you all done at Uni now?”

“Yeah,” she nods, but addresses the table as a whole. “Daniel and I both graduated with our Master’s degrees in May. Daniel just completed an internship with Gold and Associates in New York, tell them about it,” she prompts him, and Daniel launches into an enthusiastic, and well rehearsed, overview of his six month stint as the shining star of one of the most prestigious internships any junior architect could have landed.

Zelena is obviously enthralled with Daniel’s story, asking several questions and laughing along as he tells story after story of his blunders and accomplishments during his term there, and Regina nods along, adding in little details here and there when he misses one. It’s easy to do - her mother loves to hear Daniel talk about how important his career is, loves to present him to people of influence that she knows and show him off like he’s her prized racehorse, chomping at the bit to marry her very eligible daughter. Regina knows the act and always plays along, knows better than to upset Cora when she’s trying to impress someone important, and Regina is fairly certain that by now she could tell Daniel’s internship stories better than he could, from how many times she’s heard him regale various New York socialites with them.

After a few minutes, Zelena and Daniel fall into a side conversation about some of the architecture at Gardener Manor, and Robin’s hand falls from the table and grazes her knee. At first, she assumes it was an accident, but when it happens again, his fingers smoothing over her patella and down, she drops her eyes to watch his fingers glide over her bare skin, exposed thanks to the short, tight leather skirt she’s wearing, she has to fight the thrill of excitement that immediately sparks from his touch.

His voice is low when he speaks, barely above a whisper, just enough so she can hear him. “Sorry, but I don’t really give a shite what _he’s_ been up to,” he runs his fingers over the top of her knee, “I want to know about you, Regina. Won’t you tell me?”

She’s irrationally upset now, though, feeling like she’s missed her chance and fucked everything up. Dread and melancholy have seeped into her bones, and she can’t stop herself from saying, “There isn’t really a point, is there?”

He frowns, “What d’you mean?”

She stares into his pretty blue eyes for a moment and can’t quite help herself - she’s always had an issue with Marian - there’s just something about that girl that drives her crazy. “Why don’t you tell me what Marian is up to, since she makes you so happy?”

Robin barks out a laugh, and it _infuriates_ her, makes her slap his hand away from her knee and shift so that she’s fully facing her half-sister in the booth.

He continues to laugh when she turns away, and he leans closer to her, so he can say in her ear, “Green’s more your sister’s color, darling, though you’re stunning in everything I’ve ever seen you in.”

She snaps her angry gaze back to his, and he’s smirking at her, the bastard, like he thinks he’s so smart, like he’s got her all figured out. Regina is just about to tell him off, to tell him he’s an ass and he can go to hell, that this was all a mistake and she’s leaving, when he beats her to the punch.

“I said I was happy _living_ with Marian,” he takes a sip of his beer, “Never did I say I had any interest in her. You know - _know me_ \- better than that, Regina.”

She huffs out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and, at a loss for anything else to say, she mutters, “Music.”

Robin tips his head to the side and studies her, but doesn’t say anything in response.

“My degree, it’s in music,” she clarifies. “I play the violin, professionally, so that’s essentially all I’ve been doing since before I graduated - playing and trying to find a job with an orchestra, trying to find something more stable than giving lessons or playing at weddings or in quartets. Something I can make a career out of.”

He nods and gives her a little smile. “So that explains it then,” he reaches for her left hand and when she lets him take it, he caresses the leathery pads on the tips of her index and middle finger that interrupt her otherwise soft, smooth skin. “All these years I’ve been wondering what these were from. I never got the chance to ask you before, and it’s been driving me mad not knowing.”

“Really?” she smiles, feels her anger dissipate as he plays with her fingers, rubs each of hers with his.

“Yep,” he grins, “I had all kinds of theories.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you played guitar in a thrash metal band or something, you know, something that would really cheese-off your mum,” he grins.

Regina laughs, and he starts to thread their fingers together, as if he’s going to hold her hand. She wants to, _god does she ever want to_ , but she can’t, not with Zelena and Daniel sitting across from them. Her sister is constantly judging her and will certainly report her behavior back to their mother, and Daniel, _god_ , she just _knows_ he’ll say something. He might even throw a fit - he was _so_ irritated about her behavior with Robin earlier, was pissed that she practically jumped him when she first saw him, and she’d had to come up with creative ways to put him back in a decent mood - which nearly resulted in a blow job she really did _not_ want to give – thank god they’d run out of time. So when Robin _does_ weave his fingers with hers, she panics and tugs their hands down under the table.

Robin furrows his brow and looks pointedly at their hidden hands, “What’s this about?” he asks quietly.

“I uh,” she tries to think of an excuse, can’t, and says lamely, "I just, don't want anyone to get the wrong impression."

She looks away from Robin in a desperate attempt to extract herself from the conversation they’re in, hating this growing sense of loss she’s feeling that’s stemming from everything they have talked about tonight.

Tuck hasn’t really outdone himself with the Christmas decorations this year - there are a few cheap tinsel garlands along the bar, a wreath on each wall, and one strand of multicolored lights wrapped around one of the low overhead beams, but that’s pretty much it. Nevertheless, the bar is relatively full for a Wednesday night, with a good amount of laughter and excited chatter filling the air around them as people drink and make lighthearted conversation. No one really stands out, except for a group of about twenty or so people all in matching Christmas sweaters, who are apparently having their own party over on the far side of the room. They’ve just tapped into the jukebox, which in turn, has sent several of them out onto the tiny dancefloor that Regina didn’t even know existed until now.

"Regina, wanna dance?" Daniel suddenly calls across the table and cocks his head toward where she was just looking.

She doesn't want to stay out too late, and she can't drink too much - her audition is tomorrow and she's already breaking every rule she sets for herself just by going out the night before. She glances back at Robin, who looks rightfully confused by her sudden shift from hot to cold, but she doesn't know how to handle this situation, and she's starting to feel warm, _much too_ warm, and she knows it's purely from this burning ball of anxiety she can feel brewing in her chest.

"Yeah," she tries to smile brightly at Daniel and quickly pulls her fingers from Robin's, then turns to him. "Will you let me out?"

Robin frowns, his eyes search hers, but he slides out of the booth to allow her to join Daniel, who immediately pulls her to him as they work their way into the growing group of other people dancing. It's fun at first, Daniel is a great dancer - he's had years of training, including ballroom, so he's a fantastic partner. He holds her close for the first song, which is sort of nice - it allows them to talk for a few minutes before a faster song starts up, and he spins her a ridiculous amount of times. Clearly, Tuck's jukebox hasn't been updated since the sixties, but it's still fun - she's laughing and just barely keeping her feet by the time Daniel brings her back in close again for another slow song, his hands drifting lower than necessary, curving over the swell of her ass, and that's when things stop being so fun.

"Hey, stop that," she scolds, discreetly trying to get him to raise his hands. "There are people everywhere, someone might see."

"So what?" he grins and moves one hand up to her lower back, but keeps the other dangerously low. "You're looking so hot in this skirt, honey. Don't act like you didn't wear that just to tease me. You know how good your ass looks in this."

She ducks her head and tucks her short hair behind her ear to hide her cringe. She _does_ know how good this skirt looks on her, and she _did_ wear it to tease and tempt someone, but not _him._ She wore this royal blue, deep v-neck silk shirt with it too, knowing that when she turns just right it shows off the edge of her black lace bra beneath it, hoping that a pair of equally blue eyes would be looking closely, but it wasn't _Daniel’s_ blue eyes she was thinking of when she selected the one that clasps in the front and gives her that extra push-up.

Daniel's hand slides down to squeeze her ass and she jumps, slaps his chest and snaps, "Hey, quit it."

He scowls. "Seriously?"

"Yes," she huffs, trying to turn them so she can see the booth they were sitting at, wanting to know if Robin has line of sight to them, if he saw Daniel touching her. She doesn't want that, not after she told him they were _just friends_ , even if he is happy as a clam with Marian.

"Why?" Daniel is hurt, she can hear it in his tone, and it brings her focus back to him.

"It's not appropriate."

He gives her a calculating look, and when she slips and glances over at the booth again, he follows her gaze.

"It's because of him?" he asks.

"What?" she tries to play dumb, but Daniel knows her too well, and he sees through her.

"You don't want Robin to see. You don't want him to know we're together."

"We're _not_ together."

"Not yet. But we're trying, aren't we?" He looks both hopeful and suspicious, and she isn't sure what to tell him.

"I, I mean, I suppose that's the idea," she stutters, tucking her hair back again.

"Yeah, it is," Daniel agrees. "So kiss me."

She jerks her head up, meets his eyes, alarmed. "What?!"

"Kiss me," he shrugs. "It’s not a big deal, we've kissed like, a hundred times today. What's one more?"

Regina bites her lip and looks around, trying in vain to come up with excuses other than _because I don't want to_ , and _because Robin might see and then **he** might not want to kiss me._

Oh, she's so screwed.

“What’s the problem?” Daniel pushes, “Regina, we had sex _last night_. I was _inside of you_ not twenty-four hours ago,” he holds up his hand, “I used these two fingers to –”

She wraps her hand around the back of his head and yanks him to her, slams her mouth to his in a kiss that has no purpose other than to shut him up. She kisses him until he stops trying to talk, until he’s all soft and compliant and back to being sweet and easy against her, and then she shoves him back and snaps at him, “Jesus, Daniel, shut the hell up already.”

He’s giving her a dopey grin like he’s just won the lottery, his eyes flicking over her shoulder for a second and then back to her, and Regina knows without looking that Robin has caught every second of that kiss.

Dammit.

“You’re a jerk,” she bites off, trying to push away from him, but he holds her steady.

“You’re supposed to be here with _me,_ ” he says, his eyes round and accusing. “You basically made out with him the second he showed up –”

“I did not!”

“You would have, if I hadn’t interrupted.”

She glares at Daniel, but she bites her tongue - he’s probably right.

“You’d probably be off sleeping with him right now, if I hadn’t come with you tonight.”

Regina bristles, he’s getting decidedly close to crossing a line now.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “You don’t know shit about what Robin and I went through –”

“Yes I do,” he argues, “Or did you forget that you told me all about it? That it’s _me_ who has been there for you the past two years, Regina? Not him, _me._ ”

She shakes her head and swallows thickly, thinks for a minute, then looks up into his dark blue eyes. Daniel is upset, but he’s not angry with her - he’s afraid, threatened by her behavior today - and why shouldn’t he be? She’s been acting like a complete moron, falling all over herself for Robin Locksley. What did she think was going to happen, anyway? That they were going to fall desperately in love the minute they saw each other? That they’d ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after in some fairytale romance? Robin _just_ told her how happy he’s been with Marian, and here she is, pushing away the one person who has been trying to be there for her, who cares about her, who wants to be with her and has been more than clear in his intentions. What the hell is she doing?

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, brings a hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes and strokes his cheek. “You’re right, you _have_ been there for me, you’ve been wonderful. I just got carried away today, and I’m sorry.” She stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him again, sweetly this time, and most importantly, because she wants to.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, hugging her to him, “I know you were excited to see him again, you just, your _enthusiasm_ scared me is all,” he kisses the top of her head.

“I know,” she drops her head to his collarbone and sways to the slow song with him, but doesn’t really feel like dancing anymore. “It scared me too,” she admits. “Can we go? With my audition tomorrow, it probably wasn’t a great idea to come out in the first place.”

Daniel smiles and looks relieved. “Yeah, definitely.”

He slings his arm around her neck, and they head over to the booth to tell Zelena and Robin of their intentions to leave, citing Regina’s audition in London and her concerns over the long drive.

“It takes about three hours to get there, but I want to leave early, just to be safe,” Regina shrugs into her coat with Daniel’s help.

“How’re you getting down there?” Robin’s eyes carefully survey the way Daniel moves with her, the way his hands don’t leave her body for a second and she can tell Robin is annoyed by it.

“I’m going to drive us,” Daniel grimaces. They were supposed to have a driver, but Zelena, who is smirking, _accidentally_ forgot to book them one, so they’ve been forced to drive themselves.

“You sure about that?” Robin looks to Regina, “It’s quite a change, switching sides of the road and the car and all that. I’ve heard it can be quite disorienting.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Daniel shrugs. “What choice do we have, anyway?”

“Well,” Robin’s eyes narrow when Daniel’s hand slips around her waist, and she feels nervous. “I’ve actually got some business to take care of over in Holloway, and if you want, I could drive you.”

Daniel politely protests, and he and Robin go back and forth over whether or not it would be a bother for Robin, which he vehemently denies, as long as they all don’t mind squeezing into the cab of his work truck. When both sets of eyes fall on Regina to make the final decision, she looks at Daniel, who clearly doesn’t want to ride with Robin, then she looks at Robin, who is gazing over at her through his lashes with these wounded puppy dog eyes, like she’s about to take away Christmas if she tells him no, and she says quietly, “Let’s ride with Robin.”

Daniel scowls and lets go of her, Zelena rolls her eyes, and Robin positively beams at her - but she could kick herself over how stupid she feels about it all. What exactly is it about Robin that makes her feel so ridiculously _attached_ to him?

They start working out the particulars around what time he’ll come by to pick them up, and even standing this close to him doesn’t feel like enough. She can sense herself gravitating toward him, her body leaning in his general direction as they talk, her fingers twitching, wanting to slip into his, her eyes wandering to his lips. It’s silly and immature, but she swears it’s totally out of her control. The only thing that stops her from doing something epically stupid, like intertwining their fingers together, is that the second the details are hashed out Daniel initiates saying goodbye, and it snaps her out of the lovesick daze she’s fallen into.

It doesn’t escape her notice that Robin saves her goodbye for last though. He walks with them all to the front door of the bar, and he ushers Zelena and Daniel past him out into the chilly night by holding the door open for them. Before she can step through, however, he grabs her hand and tugs her back inside the entryway, allowing the heavy door to swing shut with a rush of frigid air. Moving quickly, Robin leads her back into the bar and around the sharp corner of the entry, where he tucks them deep into the dark corner, so they’re well hidden from view of the door. It’s funny, but even with him crowding her space, her back pressed right up against the wall, he doesn’t scare her. If anything, he makes her feel _more_ safe, makes her feel like she’s been holding her breath underwater and she can _finally_ break the surface and fill her lungs with fresh air again.

“Thought you said you were just friends with Daniel?” he asks quietly, ducking his head to make eye contact with her.

“I did. We are,” she rasps, her eyes traitorously flicking down to his chapped lips, then back up. _God,_ he’s close, his hands braced on the wall to either side of her, his hips nearly pressed against hers. She wants him closer though, wants to put her hands on his waist, to pull him tightly to her, to feel his weight against her, on top of her - _Jesus_ \- she’s greedy for him.

“You let all of your mates demand kisses from you?” he asks, “You let all of them grope your arse like that? Or shall I go and have a chat with him about his manners? About the proper way to treat a lady when she says no?”

Her heart slams against her ribs, her eyes sting, and she fights down a surge of pure, sweet _affection_ for him. She initially thought it was jealousy driving his questions, but her heart flips over when she realizes it’s actually his _protectiveness_ of her, his concern for her discomfort that’s pushing him to ask her these things.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” she tries, reaches up to stroke her hand comfortingly along his neck, and he closes his eyes, leans into her touch.

“Didn’t look okay,” he murmurs, opening his eyes and raising one hand to cover hers against his neck, holding it steady against him, his hot, thick fingers firm over the top of hers. “He needs to listen, and if he doesn’t know how, I’m more than happy to teach him for you.”

She tips her head and smiles softly at him. “He was just upset,” she excuses, “He… he wants more, _has_ wanted more with me for a while.” Robin looks curious now, curious and concerned. Oh god, why is she telling him this? Why the hell is she explaining this to _Robin,_ of all people? She wills herself to be quiet, but it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “We’ve… been sleeping together…” she winces when he frowns, “and my mother thinks the world of him,” Robin’s brows shoot up in surprise and she laughs a little, says, _“I know,_ right?” then she continues, more seriously, “But now everyone thinks we should be together, everyone thinks we would make the perfect couple.” She sighs heavily and wonders if Robin will walk away from her now that he knows what an idiot, what a weak, silly girl she still is.

He searches her face for a few seconds, his expression serious and contemplative, then he brings one hand up and runs his fingertips over her brow, traces down the side of her face and all the way under her chin.

“And what do _you_ think?” his voice is a whisper, barely audible over the crowd and the jukebox, still blaring out sixties classics. “What is it _you_ want, Regina?”

“A job,” she looks down between them, and she can’t resist bringing her other hand up to rest against his muscular chest. “If I can just nail this audition, if I can get this job, then I think, I’m pretty sure everything will be fine.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Robin cups her cheek and strokes his thumb along her plump bottom lip. “Do you want to be with Daniel?”

She tips her head and stares at him, willing herself not to want what every cell in her body is screaming for, not to express what her heart _aches_ for, what she’s been wanting to tell Robin for five years, but suddenly can’t find the right words to say.

“I don’t know.”

“Hey,” he smiles softly, his pretty eyes crinkling as he steps even closer to her, their thighs bumping, “It’s just me,” he urges, “You can be honest, you know I’ll keep your secrets.” The way he’s looking at her, all sweet and sincere, takes her back to a thousand blissful memories of him just like this while they shared countless hopes, dreams, and yes, secrets, and it makes her _burn_ with how much she wants to share this with him again. _God_ , she misses him, misses this feeling of complete trust, of _more_ , wants it so, _so badly._

“I want…” she starts, and he nods encouragingly, but a roar of laughter from the bar interrupts her thoughts, and she remembers where she is, that it’s so, _so foolish_ to want this. It’s naive and she can’t expect to form any sort of relationship with Robin, not after such a long time has passed, not when he’s happy and doing so well with _Marian_ , and she, well, she’s such a mess.

“I don’t know what I want,” she chickens out, drops her hand from his neck and slips out from between him and the wall. “I have to go,” she tries to pull away, but can’t resist running her hand over his shoulder. God, she’s weak for him, _so weak._ “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He turns and catches her hand just before she goes, murmurs her name, but she feels her self-control disintegrating and she begs, “ _Don’t,_ ” before he can do anything more. Robin lets her fingers slip from his, though it looks like it’s killing him to do it, and she flees like a damn coward. She joins Daniel and Zelena and heads off into the night without allowing herself to look back, not even once.

* * *

It was the most awkward three hours of Regina’s life, and if she hadn’t been so busy focusing on mentally preparing for her audition, she supposes it would have been even worse. She can’t imagine what it was like for Robin and Daniel, sitting on either side of her - Robin to her right, Daniel to her left - as they rode in nearly perfect silence all the way to the heart of London in Robin’s big work truck, but god, she has to imagine it was pretty terrible for them too.

She didn’t know what to say, or rather, she knew what she wanted to say, it’s just that she didn’t want to say what she had to say to Robin in front of Daniel, and honestly, she couldn't and _shouldn't_ deal with that drama right before her audition. So she said nothing, opting instead to cling for dear life to her violin case as if it were a security blanket, which was wedged safely on her lap while she went over and over her audition pieces in her head and pretended like everything was just fine.

It's not fine though - in fact, it's far from it. Daniel has been extra clingy all morning - incessantly touching her, putting an arm around her shoulders or waist, insisting on holding her hand, constantly leaning over to whisper things in her ear - things that don’t need to be whispered at all, general comments about the landscape or other random thoughts that pop into his head. She knows what he’s doing, he’s trying to mark his territory, he’s feeling threatened again because once they got back to the Manor last night, he’d wanted to go to bed with her and she’d resolutely turned him down. She had told him she wasn’t in the mood and she needed to go straight to sleep, which was a complete lie. She was _extremely_ in the mood - but she didn’t want to disappoint him again, and she didn’t want to go through the emotional roller coaster of wondering what the hell is wrong with her when she inevitably didn’t get off. So she’d gone to bed _alone_ , and had taken care of her needs _alone_ , and fallen asleep _alone,_ thinking about Robin and what he might have answered if she had bothered to ask _him_ , “What do _you_ want?”

When they arrive at the performing arts center, her nerves finally hit, and everything is a blur. Even the hour she waits while she sits with the twenty or so other violinists who are also there for their audition flies by with obnoxious speed, and before she knows it, she's next on the list. Regina prepares herself, does her best to gather her confidence to march up to the screen to play for the committee of judges who will determine if her future lies here in England, or if she’ll be heading back to New York with her tail between her legs, sans a job, sans her pride, sans Robin, sans anything of any real value at all.

So, no pressure.

“Remember not to rush the –” Daniel starts.

“I know,” she rolls her eyes.

“And don’t forget to breathe, don’t get stiff. You always get stiff when you’re nervous.”

“I know, _I know,_ ” she snaps. He’s just making her more anxious, more worried about her skills - she wishes he would go away. This is exactly why her mother is banned from coming to auditions with her.

“If you know, then why don’t you correct it?” he argues, and she glares at him. _Now_ is not the time for him to give her shit about weaknesses that she is well aware of. Daniel holds up his hands in front of him, “You know I’m just trying to help you, Regina. You have to concentrate. This is the big leagues, they’re going to pick up on the slightest flaws, on –”

“You’re brilliant,” a soft, calm voice cuts in, and Regina turns to see Robin walking up just behind Daniel. “I don’t see how they could possibly think you’re anything shy of perfect.”

She blushes hotly and can’t stop her smile from breaking. “You’ve never heard me play, you don’t even know if I’m any good, Robin.” She didn’t know he was going to stay for this - she thought he said he had business elsewhere.

He shrugs, “You’re _Regina-bloody-Mills_ \- what more could I need to know?” he grins at her, but his eyes are sincere and confident, and his steady reassurance helps her more than he could know.

She bites her lip, takes a deep breath and starts to thank him, but then they call her name and she stops short.

Robin nods to her, looking so calm, so _sure_ , and she takes another breath while she’s looking at him, steadies herself before she turns and heads off in the direction they summoned her.

 _Okay._ It’s okay. It’s going to be fine.

She plays well. Really well. Of all the auditions she’s done in her life, this is easily one of her best performances. Something happens to her part-way through her solo, something that she hasn’t had happen in a long time, but reminds her of why she loves to play, of why she has spent so many years shredding horsehair across wire-covered catgut. She falls into the music, she _feels_ it as she plays, lets all the angst, confusion, and heartache she’s been feeling lately pour out of her and resonate from the wooden body of her instrument. She forgets that anyone is listening to her, forgets that this is for a job, and Regina just _plays_. She feels the stress that’s been twisting her into knots over everything - Daniel, her mother, finding a job, Robin - untangle as her fingers dance lovingly along the neck of her instrument, her bow sawing fluidly across the strings - faster, faster, _faster_ \- the harmonies she creates blending beautifully, the soulful notes ringing out to fill the auditorium, painting an auditory picture of sorrow, regret, unfulfilled desires, and lost opportunities. She plays and plays, the music building, intensity rising, up, up, up, until finally, _finally_ she reaches the heartbreaking crescendo, and with a few soft, sweet, hope-filled notes to round it out, just like that, her time is up.

They tell her they’ll call her in a couple of weeks to let her know if they’d like her to come back for a second audition or if she’s been cut, and she exits the stage to find Daniel in the hallway waiting for her, smiling broadly and holding her violin case.

“You played great!” he kisses the top of her head and snags her violin right out of her hands. She cringes, automatically hisses - _careful! -_ she hates when he’s so grabby with her instrument - she’s lectured him on why it’s important to be careful with it at least a thousand times - but he ignores her, continuing as if she hasn’t spoken. “You were a little rushed through the middle, but I don’t think they’ll ding you too much for it,” he starts tucking her violin into her case, then takes her bow and works on that. “You were stiff in the beginning, you know, but you didn’t sound _too_ stiff, so you still need to do some work on that, honey, I don’t know if they picked up on it, but _I_ could tell, and…” he goes on and on, picking apart what she did wrong in her performance and how she’ll have to improve.

After a few seconds, Regina stops listening to Daniel. At first, it’s simply because she’s used to tuning him out - he always does this - and she needs longer than five seconds to reflect before she can even think about making improvements to her performance, but then a side door opens, Robin walks in from outside, and her stomach plummets to the floor. His eyes are bright red around the edges and wet as if he’s been crying, and suddenly, nothing else matters anymore.

“What’s wrong?” she strides quickly to him, frames his cold face with her hands and tugs his head down so she can see him better. “What happened?” He _has_ been crying, and she knows that he doesn’t cry, knows that his father didn’t allow it, that she’s only ever seen Robin cry once, and it was in the back of that cop car when his whole life fell apart. Fear streaks through her, a thousand horrifying scenarios flash through her mind, she can’t fathom what it might take to make him this upset.

He gives a half-hearted attempt to pull away from her but she stubbornly holds onto him, wraps one arm tightly around his neck and threads the other in his hair, pulling his head down even closer, so their foreheads are touching. “Please tell me,” she urges softly, her fingers rubbing gently along his scalp. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Robin sniffs, then one of his arms wraps tightly around her waist, the other sneaks up to wind around her shoulders, and he hugs her fiercely to him while he keeps their faces pressed close together.

“ _You_ ,” he rasps. “You happened.”

“Me?”

“You play _so beautifully_ ,” he sniffs again, tightens his arms, and when he breathes in deep it’s shuddery and chopped. “I had no idea,” his voice is low and full of gravel. “All this time, I had no idea you could do that.”

She shakes her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

He chuckles quietly, his warm breath hits her lips and she smiles even though she doesn’t know why. He bumps her nose with his and whispers, “ _Darling_ ,” her heart clenches, a second ticks by as he looks deeply into her eyes, then finally explains, “you _moved_ me.”

She just stares at him as it sinks in, as it washes over her that he’s crying because the music she played pulled these emotions from him, caused him to feel what he’s feeling right now. That she has affected him, that he is affected by _her_.

Oh. _Oh no_. Now _she_ wants to cry.

From behind her, Daniel clears his throat loudly and immediately follows it with a quiet, but whiney, “Regina, I thought we talked about this?”

Dread fills her. She doesn’t want to step back from Robin, doesn’t want to let go of him or leave the safety and security of his embrace. She tightens her fingers around his neck in silent protest, holds eye contact with him, and prays that he can come up with a reasonable explanation for them to stay wrapped up in each other’s arms. But after a moment, Robin just smiles, gives her a little squeeze and pulls away so she doesn’t have to do it. At least _he_ has some control left - she clearly doesn’t.

The three of them quickly make their way to the car, with Regina clutching her violin case protectively to her chest to keep Daniel from banging it around, and now it’s even more awkward than it was when they started the trip. Daniel is pouting but acting like he’s trying not to, which is just making things even more strained, because he keeps trying to make conversation that no one wants to make. They stop for fast food about an hour into the trip, and afterward, all Daniel can talk about are the differences between American and English fast food. She’d shut him up, but honestly, Regina’s just so drained from the stress of the day that she doesn’t have the energy to figure out a nice way to tell him to be quiet, so he just drones on and on, until she’s certain her ears are going to bleed from being subjected to the sound of his insipid voice. Just when she’s about to snap, Daniel pauses to take a breath, and Robin moves quickly, flicks the radio on and cranks the volume up high enough that they’d have to talk annoyingly loud to hear each other over the _blink 182_ song that’s playing, and Regina fights a grin. _Thank god._

She’s resting her violin case between her knees, so the right side of her body is mostly blocked from view from the left, and when Robin places his left hand on his thigh beside her, she slides her right hand over and bumps his fingers with hers in an attempt to say thanks. It’s the only thing she can think of doing that won’t give her away - if she tries to look at Robin or say something to him, she’s pretty sure Daniel will catch her, and she doesn’t want to get into an argument when they’re all trapped together in this truck for the next hour and a half.

Robin bumps her fingers back with his, and for a second, she thinks that’s the end of it. But _oh_ , then the side of his hand is pressing against hers, and her heart does this little skip in her chest, and she glances down to make sure that what he’s done is intentional and not just her imagination getting the better of her.

One look tells her that it is _absolutely_ not an accident.

His hand is as close to the edge of his thigh as possible, almost resting on hers in his attempt to touch their hands together, so she rectifies the difference, slides her hand over and presses against him with as much enthusiasm as he gave her. Apparently, he approves of this, because his pinkie finger starts to move, starts making these little up and down swipes against hers, then gets more bold and slides over the top of hers and down. Excitement burns through her, drops her stomach out and makes her breath hitch. _Oh god_ , just these little touches from him are enough to light her up like a Christmas tree.

Before she can think, she’s reciprocating his actions - rubbing her fingers against his - then they’re tangling and untangling their little fingers, swiping and swirling and playing them against each other, and _Jesus_ , it shouldn’t make her heart beat so fast, it shouldn’t make her cheeks flush. It certainly _should not_ be this exciting, it _should not_ make her nipples hard against the thin satin of her bra, and it _should not_ make that wet heat start to simmer between her thighs. It shouldn’t be _anything,_ really _,_ but _fuck_ , it is. It’s all of that.

Regina chances a glance over at Daniel. He’s leaning away from her, his arm bent and his head resting on his hand against the window, eyes closed as if he’s asleep. She doesn’t know if he actually _is_ asleep, or if he’s just resting his eyes, but she’s pretty sure he can’t see what’s going on, and she’s not ready to stop what she’s doing just yet, so when he doesn’t move after a few seconds, she assumes it’s safe enough to keep going. She captures Robin’s pinkie finger beneath hers, then carefully walks her fingers over the top of his, one by one, lacing their fingers together until her hand is resting fully on top of his.

She pauses and shoots him a look, but he’s watching the road and he doesn’t seem to be objecting, so she gets bold and gives into temptation. Regina tugs his hand over to her thigh and gives it a slow stroke up and down, then releases his fingers with a squeeze and leaves his hand on her leg, then sits back and waits to see what he’ll do.

Robin puffs out a long slow breath next to her, and his fingers curl tightly into her thigh for a moment before, _oh no_ , they leave her entirely.

She’s extremely embarrassed for about two seconds, thinking she’s misread him, she’s taken the situation too far, but then Robin’s hand is pulling hers over to _his_ thigh, and he’s settling his hand back on her leg, and _shit-shit-shit_ , oh - she’s just jumped off the deep end and she’s not even sure if she’s sorry about it.

No, that’s not true.

She’s not sorry. Not at all.

 _God_ , her mother would have a heart attack if she knew what she was doing right now. She can practically hear the lecture already, _How dare you embarrass this family?! How dare you throw your future away with such reckless abandon?!_

Robin chooses that moment to run his hand cautiously up and down her thigh with long, smooth strokes, however, and her mother's voice instantly evaporates from her thoughts. The material of her black dress pants is thinner than jeans, with a little more stretch too, and she can feel the heat of his fingers right through it, almost as if they are right against her skin. His hand is large, wrapping right around the top of her leg and smoothing up, up, up, the tips of his fingers sliding along her inseam, pressing lightly while his thumb traces circles on the outside of her thigh. She wants to watch, wants to see what his hand looks like as he moves it over her, but she shouldn’t – if Daniel wakes up it might draw his attention, and with as impulsive as she’s already being, she just can’t justify the extra risk.

It feels so good though, and she squeezes Robin’s leg in encouragement, then rubs her thumb against him, feeling nervously excited about being allowed to touch him this way. It’s difficult in the tight space they’re in, the angle is awkward and with his arm over the top of hers, it’s a little restricting, but she does what she can. She traces swirling patterns on the top of his thigh, then digs her nails in and scratches lightly, lets her fingers dip down to his inner thigh and back up. His leg is unsurprisingly solid, thick with muscle under her hand, and Regina licks her lips, imagines the strength he must have, the things he must be capable of. She already knows he can pick her up so easily, that he can carry her weight as if it’s nothing. He held her up against a wall five years ago and made her heart race with excitement and anticipation – she bets he can do incredible things to her now, what with all this bulk that has replaced his lanky adolescence. God, what she’d give to see what he looks like with way fewer clothes on.

He leans over then and puts his mouth close to the side of her face to ask her, “Tuck your hair back for me?”

She does it, slides her dark hair behind her ear for him, and he immediately presses a kiss to her cheek that causes her to blush furiously, then check to see if Daniel is still asleep. He is, thank god, and she shifts her violin case a little higher in her lap before she turns to smile coyly at Robin. She rubs her hand over his knee and up again, zig-zags along his thigh, higher and higher until she reaches the outside of his hip, then she slides her hand _way_ down the inside of his thigh and gets rewarded when he bites his bottom lip and tightens his fingers around her leg.

She continues to tease him, massages his inner thigh and lets her hand run all over him, enjoying the way his fingers clutch at her, his other hand white knuckling the steering wheel. It’s good - _oh_ \- it has her whole body thrumming with excitement and anticipation, and it makes her brave, makes her trace over his leg in wider and wider patterns, until - _oops -_ she goes a little too high, gets a little _too_ bold. Suddenly there is a hard, and solid, and deliciously large bulge pressing against the edge of her hand, and she _should absolutely not_ be anywhere near it, nor should she rub her palm along it, or slide her hand up further to get a better feel of it, but - _Jesus_ \- for some reason, she stupidly does.

She’s going straight to hell for this.

Regina glances over at Daniel, who hasn’t moved, then back to the illicit activities happening beneath her hand. Even through his jeans she can tell Robin is thick, probably long too, _oh god_. She lets her fingers splay over him and explore, running across the hardness and pressing her thumb over the tip to rub lightly. His hips shift when she does it, and she smirks, does it again and wishes she could unzip his pants, could pull him out and get her hands or - _god_ \- her mouth on him right here in the truck. It’s been awhile since she’s given road head but she’s never touched Robin this way, has never even seen him and now she’s dying to, feels like it’s the only thing in the world that’s important. She starts to stroke along him, confirming what she had suspected - _oh god -_ he does seem long. Regina clenches her thighs and swirls her thumb over the tip of him again, imagining what he might feel like, what he might taste like - how he might feel against her lips, her tongue, if he slid down the back of her throat, and her mouth waters in reaction. She shifts her fingers to his belt and teases them over his buckle, but suddenly his hand leaves her leg and grasps hers, pulls it up to his lips to pepper soft, quick kisses to her knuckles.

She’s confused, then snapped back to reality and instantly upset with herself. What the hell is wrong with her? She can’t do this; she’s sitting _right next to Daniel_ for god’s sake! But then Robin puts her hand back down on top of his hard length and rubs both of their hands over him for a few strokes, and she nearly whimpers with how good he feels. The radio is still playing loudly, so he has to press his lips against her ear when he leans over to talk to her.

“Takes too much movement,” he explains, pauses to press a kiss just in front of her ear, then continues, “But fuck, do I ever want it. You’ve no idea.”

Regina smiles and curls her fingers around him as best she can and gives him a little squeeze, which makes him exhale against her neck. It causes a rush of goosebumps to erupt beneath his warm breath, and she shivers, then bites her lip.

On the dashboard of the truck, an orange light turns on, and Robin frowns, then leans back over and tells her he has to stop and get fuel soon. Being that he’s going to have to get out of the truck, she stops stroking him, but instead threads their fingers tightly together, holding his hand in her lap and smoothing her thumb along his until he pulls into the next gas station. Daniel wakes up with the change in momentum, and she reluctantly lets go of Robin’s hand, but she instantly misses him, hates that she can’t continue to touch him, and when he slides out of the truck to start fueling it up, she practically twitches with the loss of him.

“I’m going to go in and use the bathroom, maybe get some snacks. You want anything?” Daniel asks, already reaching for the handle of the truck and running his hands through his hair in an attempt to unruffle it.

She feels dazed, but manages to mutter, “No, I’m good.”

He shrugs and shuts the truck door, and she carefully shifts her violin case over to rest on Daniel’s seat while he trudges into the convenience store. Regina unbuckles her seatbelt and takes a moment to stretch her arms and neck out after having to hold her instrument for such a long way, then jumps when the driver’s side door jerks open and Robin leans back inside.

“Where’s he off to, then?” he asks quickly.

“To use the bathroom and get snacks.”

“Brilliant,” he flashes his bright blue eyes - which are _full_ of mischief - at her and makes a grab for her hips. “C’mere, you.”

Robin hauls her out of her seat and across the driver’s side so fast she doesn’t even have a chance to help him. She just squeaks out a, “Wha?!” as he tugs her over and guides her legs around his waist, and then his hands are on her ass and he’s shoving his hips right against her core and he’s - _oh god_ \- _still so hard_ for her that she huffs out this hot little, “ _Mmm,_ ” and rolls her hips against him before she can help it. He leans over her, presses his chest flush with hers - _shit_ \- and his face is so close, all she wants to do is pull his head down and kiss him. Her heart rate skyrockets, her breath quickens, and on instinct, her own hands dive under his jacket to clutch at his back.

“You’re so fucking fit,” he rasps, nuzzling his nose against hers. “You’re bloody-well killing me, teasing me like that.” He grinds against her as if he needs to prove his point, and his hands slide up from her ass to her hips, then up further to her waist.

“Funny, I didn’t hear you telling me to stop,” she murmurs, nudging his nose back and tipping her chin up, _almost_ kissing him, but not quite.

“Well, I’m not an idiot,” he grins and runs his hands back down to squeeze her ass, then drops his head to speak directly in her ear. “Want you so bad.”

Regina runs her hands down to his waist and slips them under his shirt, skates her fingers across his lower back and says, “Want you too.”

“Yeah?” he asks, kneading her ass and rotating his hips against her, which - _mmm_ \- presses the seam of her pants right against her clit.

She nods, slides one hand down and tucks it into his back pocket to grab a handful of his ass.

“Wanna touch you,” his lips brush across her neck, and his hands glide up to her hips, his fingers curling into the waistband of her pants.

“Yesss,” she practically purrs, arching her neck for him when he parts his lips and starts to press small, soft kisses to the column of her throat.

“Wish I could take these off,” he tugs her pants down an inch, and she helpfully raises her hips, as if she’s about to let him take them off right here in the truck. _God._

“What kind of knickers have you got on?” he jerks her pants down _another_ inch - they’re nearly past her hip bones now - oh god - they need to stop this, but not yet, _not yet_.

“G-string,” she smirks, and he moans against her neck.

Robin hooks his fingers under her waistband and pulls it away from her body so he can get a look at her underwear. “Fuck,” he rasps, staring openly at her. “Wish I could see your arse in these.” Robin sucks several hot kisses just under her jaw. “Bet you're already wet for me, too, aren't you?” he scrapes his teeth against her, then flicks his tongue soothingly along the same spot.

“Mmhm,” she breathes.

“Knew it,” he groans, his fingers diving under her pants to skate tentatively along the silky fabric of her thong, “ _Christ_ , darling, say you’ll lemme touch you, you’ll lemme feel how much you want this.”

Regina’s heart is slamming erratically against her sternum, her mind is screaming to stop - that this is not appropriate, that they’re going to get caught - her stomach is flipping with anticipation, her core throbbing with arousal. _Fuck,_ they shouldn’t do this. They’re in public, with Daniel due back at any second - it’s a terrible, incredibly reckless idea.

But apparently she doesn’t care, because she says, “ _Please,_ Robin, hurry.”

He groans against her neck and doesn’t waste a second. Robin turns his right hand so his palm is against her flat stomach and slides it beneath her underwear, all the way down until he can curl his fingers and cup her. She sucks in a quick breath, a little taken aback with how fast it all happens, but then his hot breaths are puffing fast against her neck, and he’s whispering, “Christ alive,” as he slips a finger between her folds and finds out just _how_ wet, and swollen, and hot for him she is.

He slides along her slit, parting her outer lips and running up and down through her slick heat, and Regina’s hips jerk in reaction, her mouth opening on a desperate sigh.

“So wet,” he breathes, “Oh fuck, babe,” he rubs circles her clit and she lets out a little whine. “You like that?” he asks, his other hand cupping the back of her head so he can look in her eyes as his fingers speed up, flurrying over her. “You like it when I rub your clit fast like this?”

She manages to whisper, “Yeah,” and rolls her hips up to him, lets her thigh drop open so he can touch her more easily. It feels so good, and she wants more of him, wants his fingers _inside_ of her, wants his lips, his tongue, his cock. _Shit,_ she’s never felt so needy in her entire life.

“Wish I could taste you,” he presses a kiss to her cheek, then all along the line of her jaw, “lick you, suck your clit, fuck you with my tongue.”

“Oh god,” she exhales, clutching at his back, the coil of arousal tightening beneath the quick flick of his fingers. She pictures his head between her thighs, the rough scrape of his beard against her soft skin, his lips moving over her, the silky slide of his tongue, and her legs start to shake.

“Wanna touch every inch of you,” he sucks on her pulse, “been waiting so long for this.” He moves his fingers faster, _faster,_ switching between back and forth flicks and vigorous circles on her ultra-sensitive clit, and Regina accidentally whines, works her hips beneath him and scrunches her eyes shut with pleasure. She’s so turned on, feels close even though she knows that’s impossible - it always takes her forever, is at best a fifty-fifty shot at even getting off, but _god,_ the way Robin is working her clit just right, she’s nearly trembling beneath him. Her entire body is alight, her nipples hard and pressing against her bra, lips sensitive when she bites them to keep from making more embarrassing noises, even her chest and stomach have this fluttery rush of adrenaline zinging through her every time he whispers something he wants to do to her, which just ramps her up more, more, _more._

“Wanna see your gorgeous tits,” he nips the side of her neck, “Wanna hear you make all these hot little noises I know you’re holding back right now, wanna feel you come when I fuck you into the mattress, against the wall, on the table, the floor, _Christ,_ anywhere and everywhere.”

_Click!_

The pump fueling up the truck automatically releases, and Robin and Regina both startle at the sound. His hand slips out of her pants in a flash, and they stare at each other, wide-eyed for a moment as reality hits them.

Jesus Christ, what the hell were they doing?

Robin eases back from her slowly, reaches down and adjusts his very obvious, very sizable erection while she tries to straighten her pants and calm the intense throbbing in her core. She was _seconds_ from coming, she’s sure of it, and now she’s _aching_ for release, is uncomfortably wet and swollen, her hands and legs still shaking in the wake of her impulsive decisions.

Robin frowns, “Fuck, you were nearly there, weren’t you? I’m so sorry you didn't get to finish, darling.”

“Don’t be,” she shakes her head and grimaces. “This never should have happened,” she feels panic welling up in her chest. Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck_.

“What?” Robin reaches for her, but she pulls away. “I mean, the venue certainly isn’t ideal, but –”

“This is… this was a mistake,” she cuts him off before he can finish. It’s difficult to breathe, her face feels flushed, her ears hot.

There is a beat of silence where they just stare at each other before Regina can’t take it anymore, and she scowls, _so angry_ with herself, and buries her head in her hands.

“Well I can’t say I agree…” Robin mutters. “But uh, I guess I’d better go and top this off then.”

He retreats to take care of fueling up, and Regina tries valiantly not to fall to pieces while she waits for him in the truck.

Oh god. Instead of figuring things out, all she has done is complicate them further. She has made a tangled, tortuous mess of everything, where no matter what she does now, _someone_ is going to get hurt, thanks to her careless, selfish decisions.

How very typical of her.

The passenger door opens and Daniel is back, handing her a seltzer water she didn’t ask for, but is suddenly very grateful to have, and climbing up into the cab. They get resituated and Robin climbs in on her other side, so she is inescapably sandwiched between the consequences of her actions, and then they’re back on the road in no time.

It’s not far back to Gardener Manor now, but to Regina it feels like the longest part of the trip. Daniel is sullen and silent, complaining of feeling carsick and still sulking over her behavior with Robin after her audition. Robin is also silent, his body stiff and his left hand up on the steering wheel so she can’t even try to communicate or do anything other than sit in the middle and clutch her violin case as if it will save her from making any more insane choices today.

She feels like she’s spiraling out of control, like ever since she stepped off the plane in England her entire life has started to disintegrate around her. She has no idea what has sparked her to act so foolishly, to behave in such a wild and reckless way, but she does know one thing. She _has_ to figure out what she wants. She at _least_ has to figure out what she’s doing with Daniel before she goes off and does… more of what she just did. Her behavior is beyond atrocious, it’s completely reprehensible, there’s a spot for her in the hall of fame for terrible, evil people who sort of cheat on their almost-wanna-be-boyfriends, and the guilt she’s feeling right now is no one’s fault but her own.

They pull up to Gardener Manor and Daniel immediately bails out of the truck and starts for the house, telling Regina he thinks he’s going to be sick and he’s going to his room. She should go after him and make sure he’s okay, and she swears that she will, just as soon as she straightens things out with Robin. She has to take care of one mess at a time, and she might as well start with this one.

“Robin, I –” she starts, but he tips his head forward to rest on the steering wheel, and she stops.

“Before you go saying this was all wrong,” he mutters dejectedly, then shifts his head to the side to look at her, “will you come with me to the cigar lounge? For old times’ sake? Just you and me, and some music for a bit, before you tell me you don’t want to see me, that you haven’t got a place for me in your life anymore.”

She wracks her brain but can’t find a reason good enough to overcome the way her heart is begging her to say yes. She wants to see him, to spend time with him, to learn about his life and who he is; even the parts that include Marian, even if she can’t, or shouldn’t have him the way she so desperately wants him. So Regina nods and agrees to meet him in an hour, after she’s had a chance to put away her instrument, change, check on Daniel, and hopefully get her hands to stop shaking.

She convinces herself that by then she’ll have this all sorted out. That in an hour she’ll have the willpower, the strength to look at Robin and not _ache_ inside with how much she wants to be with him, that she won’t pine over a million scenarios she has imagined of the two of them running away to live happily ever after together. She’ll ignore the fact that she’s never fantasized about running away with Daniel, that she’s never even considered wearing his wedding ring, that she’s never thought of him and wondered what their children might look like, should she ever be lucky enough to bear them. In an hour she’ll have convinced herself that just because she’s thought about those things with Robin in mind, it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s all just silly fantasies that her teenage heart made up to get her through a few lonely years when she didn’t have anyone who loved her, that it was all a coping mechanism, and when she finally gets some one-on-one time with him, the rose colored glasses will come off.

In an hour, she’s going to prove that Robin Locksley is nothing more than an old acquaintance, and everything is going to be fine. Just fine.

* * *

Stepping into the secret cigar lounge is like stepping back in time for Regina. The smell of old tobacco and leather fills her nose, the lit fireplace crackles merrily in the hearth, and across the room, a very relaxed looking Robin Locksley is filling two tumblers with what she can only assume is some very expensive whiskey.

“Hey,” he glances up and smiles at her as the door swings shut. “I was wondering if you still had the key, or if I was going to have to let you in.”

She moves slowly around the room, refreshing her memory, taking in the sturdy bookcases, the hunting decor, and the heavy furniture. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, “Wasn’t sure if you’d hold onto something so small for so long. Wasn’t sure if it would still matter to you.”

She frowns, not liking his implication that she’d just throw away such an important part of their history. He has no idea how much she has thought about him, how much she has longed for his company, how many hours upon frustrating hours she has worried over what happened to him and was never able to find out a damned thing until now.

"Of course it matters," she levels him with a sharp look from across the room. "You, of all people, should know that."

"Should I?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink, his crystal blue eyes sharp over the top of it.

His question stings and she nods, growls, "Yes, you should."

He hums in response but drops it, and Regina goes back to looking around the room.

It’s clear that Robin has spent some time getting things ready for their visit - there’s a large CD player set up on one of the gaming tables, with a very familiar looking leather binder sitting next to it, and a slew of snacks piled up on another table, including Doritos, cookies, and Cheetos, bottled water and sodas. On one of the old couches there are two pillows and a thick sherpa blanket folded up neatly on one end, and Regina raises one eyebrow at them, then shoots him a pointed look, but Robin ignores it and asks, “Do you take your whiskey neat, or on the rocks still?”

“On the rocks, if you have the ice,” she draws nearer to him, always impressed by how much he remembers about her, how he knows these little details as if he sees her every day, when it’s been forever since they’ve done this.

Robin nods and adds a few cubes of ice from a small ice bucket she hadn’t noticed before, then passes her her drink, and they clink their glasses together before they each take a sip of the delicious amber liquid. It tastes as amazing as she thought it would, and she moans a little before she can help it, licks her lips and has another sip before she breathlessly says, “Jesus, that’s good whiskey.”

Robin is staring at her mouth when she says it, his eyes hyper-focused and intense. It makes her nervous, makes her feel very, _very aware_ of him, so she steps back in an attempt to regain some control and turns toward the fire.

“I see you’ve been busy setting up in here,” she drawls. “Thinking it’s going to be a late night?” Her eyes drift back to the blanket on the couch, and she can’t help but wonder if he really brought that in here with the same thoughts that are now running wild through her head. That’s so presumptuous of him that she’s almost offended by it. She’s not _that_ easy… is she?

Robin chuckles softly behind her and she turns her head to look at him. “Actually, most of this stuff was already here. A lot of times when the Gardeners throw parties, the planning staff stay over so we can be called down whenever we’re needed, and since Zelena thinks it’s amusing to under-book rooms, I usually end up in here. I uh, I wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

Regina breathes a quiet sigh of relief and takes another sip of her whiskey to hide it. _Thank god._

“She seems awfully excited to put you and Marian together,” Regina observes, “Why is that?”

Robin shakes his head. “Over the past couple of years she and Marian have become friends of sorts,” he rubs his forehead, “And Zelena’s decided that we should be together, so she’s been pushing for ages for it. It’s annoying as hell.”

“And Marian?” Regina prods, “Does she… want to be more?”

Robin shrugs, “I dunno. Don’t think so. We’ve been friends too long for that, I think. She’s more of a sister to me than anything. I know when I'm with her that I don’t feel like I feel when…” He stares into her eyes for a long moment that makes Regina’s pulse pound loudly in her ears, then he downs the rest of his whiskey, drops his glass heavily on a nearby table and strides quickly to her. “I’m sorry, but I, I have to know. What are you doing with Daniel?”

“What am I _doing?_ ” she asks stupidly, as if she doesn’t know exactly what he means.

Robin takes her free hand and guides her to sit next to him on one of the red leather couches.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Why’s he here? You told me he wants more with you, but do you want more with him? Do you even _like_ him?”

“Of course I like him,” she snaps defensively, turning to face Robin more fully. “He’s my friend, he’s a, a good friend. He’s been great and he’s, um, he's good to me. We’re trying to, to figure things out, to see if this can go somewhere further, if we can be in a relationship together. _That’s_ what he’s doing here.”

“That’s a load of shit,” he rumbles.

“Excuse me?” her eyes widen in shock.

Without hesitation, Robin repeats, more firmly, “I said, that’s a load of shit. You’re not interested in him, and we both know it.”

“How dare you,” she sets her glass of whiskey down on the side table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And what right do you have to judge me? You asked me what I was doing, and I just told you.”

“It isn’t though,” he challenges. “You’re just making up excuses, because we both know what’s really going on.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“You’re settling.”

“I am not!” she protests, flustered, “I don’t even - what’re you - settling for what?!”

“For what's easy, for what’s _expected_ of you,” his expression is serious, honest and imploring. “You’re _this close_ to caving in too, I can see it in your eyes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she’s starting to feel panicked, she can feel tears burning, and she doesn’t understand how he always manages to do this. It’s like he’s just popped open the lock on her heart and started reading all of her secrets out loud for everyone to hear.

“Alright,” Robin shakes his head, “If you fancy him so much, then why aren’t you with him?” Robin grabs both of her hands in his and holds them tight. “If he’s such a _good friend_ , if he’s so wonderful, if you’re fucking him and he’s such a _fantastic_ catch, why aren’t you with him?”

“I… the timing hasn’t been right… I’ve been busy with school, and auditions, and…” she tries, cringing at how stupid she sounds.

“But none of that is in the way - he’s right here with you,” Robin pushes, “He’s right down the hallway, and apparently, he’s been _right here_ for two years, and you’re _still_ not with him. So I’ll ask you again, Regina, why is he here?”

“Well it’s not like I could just tell him not to come with us,” she growls, shifting her hands to grip Robin’s muscular forearms tightly, her nails digging in, desperation creeping into her tone.

“Why the bloody hell not?!”

Regina rolls her eyes - Robin makes it sound so easy. “He had already talked to my mother and they had it all perfectly worked out. So what was I supposed to do? Tell them no? You know how my mother is, Robin. She would have made it happen even if I didn’t want it to, and that would have been even worse, because then Daniel would’ve known I didn’t want him here, and you saw how he is when he’s upset. And besides,” she pauses to run her hands through her thick, dark hair, “everyone thinks we should be together. He’s _technically_ perfect for me - he should be everything I want in a partner.”

“If he _should be_ , why isn’t he?” Robin asks softly.

“Because it just, it doesn’t _feel_ right when we’re together.” She’s panting like she’s just run ten miles, her lips parted, chest heaving, _oh god_ , she feels terrified, like she’s lost all control.

“What d’you mean?” he leans forward to place his large hands on her knees.

She stares up at him from beneath her lashes, unwilling to share any more with him. It’s too much, too embarrassing.

“Tell me,” he urges, “What d’you mean, _it doesn’t feel right_?”

Again, she hesitates, but when he waits her out, looks at her with that patient sweetness that she _knows_ means he'll wait forever if he has too, she finally breaks.

“He doesn’t make me feel _anything,_ ” she huffs in exasperation. “I don’t miss him when he’s not around, I can’t picture a future with him, I can’t even, _oh god_ , he can’t even make me, when we’re _together_ , I almost never, _you know_.”

He gives her a confused look and she winces in humiliation, whispers, “I can’t _come."_

Robin's eyes widen in what looks like shock, and suddenly everything Regina has been holding back boils over. "He makes me feel like it’s my fault, Robin, like there’s something wrong with me. And I don’t know, maybe there _is_ something wrong with me. I mean Jesus, _obviously_ there’s _something_ wrong with me, it’s not like it’s rocket science but - oh my god, why am I telling you this? _Fuck._ ”

Regina drops her head into her hands and wishes she could evaporate into thin air, that she could just die of embarrassment. Her face is burning with shame, her ego totally crushed - she has never felt so mortified in her entire life.

“Nonsense,” Robin says resolutely, his hands squeezing her knees. “Regina,” his thumbs rub little swirls into the soft fabric of her black leggings and she shakes her head no, keeps her head buried in her hands. She can’t look at him now, maybe ever again. “Darling, that’s nonsense,” he repeats. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and I’ll be happy to have more than a conversation with anyone who thinks otherwise.”

“There is,” she whines pathetically. “You don’t know - I’ve tried _so hard_ , and no matter what I do, what we try, it's so _difficult_.”

“Have you considered that maybe there’s something wrong with _him_?” he asks, and she feels his fingers running through her hair at her temple, brushing the strands back. “That perhaps he’s just a bloody fucking halfwit who doesn’t know his arse from his arm?”

She snickers and takes a breath, then finally drops her hands to give Robin a watery smile. “I suppose that could be part of it.”

“ _Of course_ it is,” he smirks, cupping her cheek. “You’re perfection,” his eyes grow serious as his thumb strokes across her cheekbone, “I refuse to believe it has anything to do with you.”

“That’s because you… we…” she trails off like a coward, licks her lips and drops her eyes. He still has one hand on her knee, and she takes it between both of hers, starts smoothing her fingers over the back of it, then turns it over and traces the lines of his palm with the tips of her fingers. It’s suddenly too warm in here for the dark purple knit sweater she’s wearing, and she wants to take it off, wants to be in just her tank top, but she’s not willing to let go of his hand to do it.

“It’s because you were nearly there in the truck today,” he says quietly, “and I barely touched you at all.”

She feels her cheeks heat again, but this time it’s accompanied by warmth in her belly too, and she brings her eyes up to meet his.

“It wasn’t even five minutes of me rubbing you,” he continues, his voice low and gravelly, “I didn’t even have a chance to slip my fingers inside of you, and you were about to come for me anyway,” he shifts closer to her, his hand slipping around to the back of her neck, “Weren’t you?”

She takes in a quick breath through parted lips, but when she doesn’t reply, he asks her again, “Weren’t you, Regina?”

His tone is firm and knowing, makes her clench her thighs together to alleviate the growing need for friction she feels there, and she whispers, “Yes.”

Robin smiles and kneads the back of her neck. “And if I’d have kept going for a few more seconds, you would have, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” she nods, her heart pounding loudly, clutching his hand between hers, pulling it toward her stomach without thinking and tucking it snugly against her.

“Did you go to your room and touch yourself when we got back?”

“ _Robin,_ ” she gasps, “Of course not, I barely had time to shower and get changed.” Between this, and what he said to her in the truck, she’s stunned - she never thought he would be so vulgar, but his filthy words make her core throb without even really touching her, and _god,_ he certainly doesn’t need the assistance. Just looking at him makes her crave him.

“So you haven’t come at all today?” he asks, then smirks a little and tips his head to the side.

“Why?” she’s suddenly suspicious, “Are you keeping count now? Going to write a research paper on it?”

He barks out a laugh and something clicks between them, and then they’re both laughing and he’s pulling her over onto his lap. Even though she’s still got this hum of arousal thrumming through her, it’s lost the urgency and just feels _good_ now. Before she knows it, she’s got her legs on either side of him and her hands on his shoulders while she sits back on his thighs, and his arms are loosely locked around her waist as they smile and take a moment just to look at each other. There’s a fire going and an old Nirvana CD is playing on shuffle, he smells like cedar and his eyes are _so blue,_ and to Regina, it all just feels like _home_.

She runs her fingers over his face, traces the worry lines on his forehead, between his brows, down the laugh lines that crinkle the sides of his eyes, and smooths her thumbs into his dimples, unable to hold back a soft smile as she traces his features. She’s never, _ever_ touched him so sweetly, so slowly, has never been allowed, or allowed herself to do this - it feels _so_ intimate that she barely breathes while she does it, and Robin holds perfectly still, until her fingers run across the rough stubble of his beard and he breaks the silence to ask her, “You like it?”

Regina swirls her fingers over his cheeks again, lets her manicured nails catch in the short, coarse hairs, then leans in and brushes her cheek against his. It’s rough, but not unpleasant - long enough that it’s not scratchy, and she turns her face a little to press her lips to his cheek, feeling the way his beard catches against the sensitive skin of her lips, tickles her nose, even darts her tongue out and gives him a little lick at the corner of his jaw, just to see what it feels like.

Beneath her, he puffs out a soft laugh and she pulls back, runs her fingers down the side of his neck and tells him, “ _Mm_ , it works for me.”

“ _Christ,_ I’ve missed you,” he brings his hand up to cup the side of her face, “I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“I know,” she sighs, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, twisting her fingers in his t-shirt. “So much has happened. So much has changed.”

He frowns. “Some things haven’t. Some things are exactly the same.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for several long seconds, and when she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse and low. “What things?”

He drops his eyes to her lips, then raises them to meet hers once more. “This.”

She knows what he means - she feels exactly the same way she has always felt about him. When it comes to the chemistry between them, it’s like no time has passed at all.

“And I’ll bet a pound to a penny I’m not the only one who thinks that,” his thumb strokes sweetly across her cheekbone.

“You don’t need to place bets. I might not know what the hell I’m doing with Daniel,” she leans forward, shifts just enough so that the sides of their noses are brushing, and when she speaks, her lips coast over his. “But we both know how I feel about _you_.”

The first hard press of his lips to hers nearly makes her cry with the shockwave of sweet emotion that ripples down her spine. It’s a blessing that she’s not standing, because when Robin tips his head and deepens the kiss, swipes his tongue into her mouth and slides it against hers, her knees go weak, even as her hands strain with the tension of holding onto him so tightly.

It’s only a few seconds before he pulls back from her with a little sucking _smack_ of their lips, though, and both of his hands move to hold her hips still. Internally, she groans in disappointment - she doesn’t want to stop, not even for a breath - so she chases him, leans in for more even as he turns slightly in an attempt to avoid her lips while he whispers her name.

“Wait, _mm_ , just a, one sec, darling,” he tries, failing to avoid her lips and falling back into sync with her, exchanging quick kisses as she rises up on her knees and cups his jaw with both of her hands.

“Why?” she rasps, “Want you,” she sucks hard on his bottom lip, sinks her teeth in and gives it a long, drawn out pull this time, feels his hands slip under the hem of her sweater and has a rush of relief when his tongue teases back against hers.

“Need to, tell you, something,” he tries again, and Regina drops her head to suck hot kisses down the side of his neck, darting her tongue out to lick the warm, salty skin beneath it. God, he tastes as good as he smells, and she inhales deeply, curls her fingers into his hair and tips his head back, rolls her hips against him and scrapes her teeth over the thick tendon that runs from his ear to his collarbone.

“Tell me later,” she breathes, sits back, crosses her arms and whips her sweater off, leaving her in her white silk tank top - the one that has tiny spaghetti straps and black lace trim along the low cut, deep vee neckline, and _oops_ , did she forget to wear a bra?

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” he groans, openly staring at her chest.

Thanks to the fire Robin has burning in the hearth, the room isn’t all that chilly, but her shirt is thin, the material cold, and she’s _so_ turned on, wanting him so badly that she can feel her hard nipples straining against the fabric. She knows he must be able to see them through the light color, especially with the way the shirt is tucked tightly into her pants, and when his hands slide up her ribs she arches at him, wordlessly begging him to touch her.

“I have thought about this so many times,” he stares at her shamelessly, brings his hands all the way up until they’re wrapped around her ribs, stopping when he reaches the swells of her breasts, just shy of cupping her. “God, babe,” he sighs and, _Jesus_ , continues to stare.

“Robin,” she squirms under his hot gaze, glides her hands over his shoulders and down to his biceps. “ _Robin,_ ” she calls again when he doesn’t respond.

“Mm?” he’s rubbing his thumbs against the undersides of her breasts now, watching them press into her intently, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two, as if he can’t decide which to watch.

“ _Do something,_ ” she pleads, running her hands down to his forearms to tug at his wrists.

Much to her surprise, however, he resists her and keeps his hands exactly where they are. Regina is stunned - she’s never had a man do that - has never had a guy ignore a direct command _and_ not take such an obvious cue from her, and she flounders for a second while Robin takes his time.

“Is there somewhere you need to be tonight?” he asks, finally tearing his eyes away from her chest to meet hers. “Another engagement you’re expected at?”

She shakes her head dumbly, still gripping his wrists.

“So there’s no rush?” he gives her a _very_ devious grin, and it makes her breath catch, makes her clit throb, makes her nipples ache to be touched.

Regina bites her lip, lets it slide through her teeth. “We have as much time as we want.”

Robin’s eyes slowly drift down from her eyes, to her lips, her neck, collarbones, chest, and breasts, leaving a wave of goosebumps in his wake. He slides his hands up and _finally_ palms her, licks his lips at the stuttered breath that escapes her when his thumbs find her nipples and flick back and forth over them, and his eyes are full of heat and promise when he tells her, “Then I’m going to take my time and prove to you that there is not a single,” he pinches her nipples through her shirt and her hips jerk, “thing,” he rolls them, and she moans, “wrong with you.”

“I didn’t tell you that to make you prove aaa-anything,” she gasps as he slides one hand around to her back and dips his head down to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it right through her shirt. His lips tighten and his tongue flicks, the material grows wet quickly and rubs deliciously against the sensitive tip as he works his mouth over her, nipping gently with his teeth, holding her tight to him while his other hand plucks and rolls her other nipple.

Regina threads her fingers through his hair, runs her hands over his neck and shoulders and shivers under his touches. “Please,” she hears herself, “Take it –” he pinches her nipple hard and holds it, and her hips buck without her consent, grinding down onto his lap as he continues to hold it, and this deep throb starts that she’s _way_ more into than she ever thought she might be. “Take it off,” she finally finishes.

Robin releases her nipple with a soft laugh and starts kissing a trail along her chest, all the way up the column of her throat, sliding his hand alongside as he goes and burying it in her hair before he kisses her deeply, his tongue diving into her mouth again and again until she’s completely breathless.

“You want me to take your shirt off?” he murmurs, kissing along her jawline, and she nods. “You want me to suck on these sweet little nipples, play with your tits without anything in the way, is that it?”

“God, yes,” she scratches her nails against his scalp, tugs his head up and kisses him _hard._

She feels his hands at her waist then, roughly jerking her tank top out of her pants, and in the next two seconds, she’s topless on his lap.

“I knew it,” his hot breath hits her square in the chest while his hands run all over her, his fingertips swirling and drawing goosebumps on her breasts, the flat planes of her stomach, down the curved muscles of her arms and up her back.

“Knew what?” she pants, shivering under his touch.

He leans forward and licks her right nipple, swirls his tongue and gives it a little suck, a kiss, then gives her other nipple a long, sucking kiss, cups her breasts with both hands and says, “Knew your tits were _fucking perfect._ ”

She laughs because he’s ridiculous - she supposes they’re alright, but doesn’t think they warrant the sort of worship he seems so intent on - and runs her fingers through his hair. Robin goes back to kissing her breasts, to nipping and sucking all over them, using little bites and flicks of his tongue to make her gasp and ache for him to put his mouth back on her nipples, which are cold now due to the drying wetness left from his tongue. He teases and teases her though, avoiding the tightly pebbled tips of her breasts for what seems like forever, then he plucks at them, flicks and strums with his fingers, and pays so much relentless attention to them that she starts trying to squirm away, but he simply won’t allow it. He holds her to him, his grip firm around her back, until she’s panting, moaning, and positively writhing against the bulge in his pants as she tries to relieve the throbbing ache between her thighs, which only intensifies with every single touch of his lips, tongue, teeth, or hands against her now.

Her legs start to shake and she has a reality check, remembers that she should be doing something for him, that this has been _way_ too one sided, and he’s going to think she’s a selfish bitch if she doesn’t do _something_ , so she starts tugging at his t-shirt. She wants to see him too, to feel his body beneath her hands, wants to feel him against her and see the pleasure he gets when she touches him.

“Take this off,” she demands, pulling hard on the fabric, “I need it off, Robin,” she huffs, rolls her hips against him, “I need it, I need it _off_.”

“Oh, you definitely need it,” he grins, “I know babe, I know you need it bad.”

“Give it to me then,” she commands him, losing her patience.

Robin’s brows shoot up, “Is that what you’re used to?” he tips his head to the side, “Do your boyfriends always just do what you say?”

She frowns, “Of course they do.”

Robin grins and slides one hand into her hair, holds her head steady as he looks in her eyes and brings one hand up to palm her breast, gives it a little bounce, then pinches her nipple and starts rolling it between his fingers. Regina moans in spite of herself, and Robin’s smile widens.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not your boyfriend,” he rasps.

He stands up in a flash, and she doesn’t have time to adjust or to catch herself, so it’s good that he does - he wraps one arm under her ass and flips them so she’s down on her back, and then he’s tugging her pants and shoes off, but leaving _his_ shirt on, and _goddammit_ , this is not at all what she told him she wanted.

“This isn’t what I meant,” she complains, tries to sit up, but is pressed back down when he starts kissing across her stomach, driving her level of arousal higher and higher.

“I know,” he mutters smoothing his hands over her ribs, then down to her hips, “But what you _meant_ isn’t what you _need_.”

“We’ve never even come close to doing this,” her stomach quivers under the hot swipe of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth as he strokes all across her, “How would you know what I need?”

“Because I know _you_ ,” he murmurs, licking along the waistband of her black lace boyshorts, inching them down just a little, “So stop worrying about me, darling, stop thinking and let me _give it to you_.”

He peels her underwear off then without even asking, without giving her the whole, “are you sure” pause, and there’s this odd sense of relief that floods through her when he does it, when he doesn’t make her repeat over and over what she wants. She exhales and relaxes a fraction, tries to let him take over, closes her eyes and strokes her fingers through his hair in encouragement.

“There,” he whispers, trailing kisses up the inside of her thigh, “that’s right, let me do it.”

There’s something in the confidence of his voice that causes her heart to _pound_ , causes heat to flood her core, wetness to seep where his mouth is slowly inching closer and closer.

“Spread these gorgeous legs for me,” he shifts a little lower, his head dipping down, and she can feel his breath on her center, can feel the way it quickens when she reluctantly drops her knees open further to give him better access.

“Christ alive,” he groans, smoothing his hands up her inner thighs, and Regina bites her lip, presses her palms to her eyes and focuses on trying not to hyperventilate. “You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, “Perfect, _beyond_ perfect, _fucking hell_.”

His hands are on her then, his thumbs spreading her outer lips, and her hands immediately drop to swat at him. “What are you doing?!”

“Having a look at you,” he smirks at her, bites his lip and drops his eyes back to where she’s trying to push his hands away.

“Well stop it,” she starts to close her legs and he rolls his eyes, stares her straight in the face and says, “Then show me, yourself.”

“ _What?_ ” He must be crazy.

“Show me,” he smooths his palms over her hips, kisses the backs of her hands where she’s half-heartedly shielding herself. “One way or another, I’m getting a good look at this flawless cunt I’m going to be eating tonight,” he licks his lips, “so spread yourself and show me, or I’m going to bind your hands, you naughty girl, so you stop getting in the way of your own enjoyment.”

Her mouth opens but no sound comes out, and for a second she’s not sure what to say. But then she has this little flash of fantasy, of her hands tied above her head as he does whatever the hell he wants with her, as he makes her come over, and over, _and over,_ and the next thing she knows, she’s pressing her wrists together and holding them out to him in sweet surrender.

Dear god, what the hell is she thinking? She’s never done anything like this before, has never let her guard down enough to allow a lover to do it. Anyone who knows Regina is well aware of her suspicious nature, that she keeps her circle small - _god,_ if any of her friends knew about this they’d probably die of shock.

He stares at her for a beat, apparently as surprised as she is by her choice, but then he’s sitting up, kneeling so he can unbuckle his belt, and he’s pulling it off in a fluid motion that makes her arch just from the sound of it.

“Fuck,” he growls, watching her writhe over practically nothing, then carefully wrapping the leather around her wrists in a figure eight pattern.

“Hurry,” she begs, feeling the slickness between her thighs start to run - she’s never been this wet in her entire life.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop straight away,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking up to hers. “But until then, I’m not stopping, not for anything, understand?”

She nods, her heart _pound-pound-pounding,_ but he shakes his head as if she’s misunderstood him.

“Regina, I’m serious, until you tell me to _stop_ , I’m never going to stop making you come. The world could end around us, and I’m not stopping. I’m going to show you that there is _nothing_ bloody wrong with you - I won’t live another second on this Earth with you thinking that there is. Got it?”

He drags his eyes slowly over her as he says this, and her whole body shivers in reaction.

“Yesss,” she hisses, finally believing him. She tests where he has wrapped her hands and finds them more than secure, then locks eyes with him. “Do it, Robin. Make me come.”

* * *

“I’m going to, darling, don’t worry. I’m going to get you off - there’s nothing I want more.”

Robin has never been more excited or more aroused in his entire bloody life, and he’s got the shaking hands and the stone hard cock to prove it.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he murmurs, kissing her knuckles, the backs of her hands, breathing in the familiar scent of his leather belt combined with the vanilla of her lotion. “ _Christ_ , I’ve been waiting for _ages_ to get a taste of you, to go down on you good and proper.”

“Yes,” she rasps, her hips lifting in suggestion, her mocha eyes the darkest he’s ever seen them. “Do it, do _that_.”

Robin lowers himself back down between her thighs and starts pressing kisses to the smooth, soft planes of her stomach, unable to suppress a grin with the way her flat muscles quiver beneath the hot swipe of his tongue and the sharp nip of his teeth. Her fingers tangle in his hair, not directing him or tugging him one way or another, just seeking purchase it seems, and he sighs contentedly with the feeling, runs his hands up her toned thighs and spreads her open for him once more. He wants to see her, wants so badly to get a good look at what he has spent far too much time fantasizing about. He thinks that she wants this too - that despite her original protests, she wants him to know her like this, that this is yet another way they’re going to connect and trust, open up deeper than they ever have to anyone else, and he’s totally prepared to do that with her - feels like he’s been _waiting_ to do this with her, like he’s been holding out for this exact moment.

Regina’s skin is heavenly beneath his lips, incredibly soft and smooth, and she smells delicious, a familiar spice that he instantly associates with her. He works his way down slowly, wanting to show her that there’s no rush, that she can calm down and relax, that he’s in no hurry and she needn’t be either. Beneath him though, she’s strung as tight as a bow, her body practically vibrating with anticipation, and when his fingers finally skim her plump, slick outer lips, she whines and puffs out an impatient breath as she twists her hands in his hair.

Robin rubs his thumbs up and down slowly, lightly at first, just tracing her slit and urging her to part her thighs further, until she hooks one of her knees over his shoulder and flexes the other one wide, propping it up on the coffee table that’s centered between the two sofas. She’s spread open beautifully then, her gorgeous, swollen, dark pink folds on display, glistening with her arousal. He licks his lips in reaction and just stares for a second, not trying to make her feel self-conscious but, _fuck_ , she’s so perfect and he’s been picturing her since he was seventeen, wondering and fantasizing and hoping, and she’s just, _Christ,_ she’s even more beautiful than he imagined.

“Stunning,” he whispers, sliding his thumb straight down the center of her, throwing his forearm up to brace across her from hip to hip when she jerks wildly at his first touch. “S’alright,” he soothes, running his thumb up to circle her hard little clit, then down to tease at her entrance. “So sensitive already,” he cocks a brow and smirks, “Gonna make this easy on me, aren’t you?”

She rewards him with a sexy, breathy laugh, and her fingers relax in his hair.

He can’t resist then, knows he’s finally got her to a place where she’s feeling more comfortable, so Robin lowers his mouth to her, starts sucking kisses up the inside of her thigh, closer and closer to her center while he continues to stroke his thumb carefully up and down through her folds. She’s so wet it makes it easy to tease her entrance, to dip the tip of his thumb inside of her, to run up and flick quickly over her clit as his lips draw nearer and nearer. By the time his mouth catches up to his hand she’s trembling beneath him, her elbows bent so her bound, shaking hands are tucked up by her face, eyes scrunched shut, her heel digging into his back and her other leg jittering each time he dips his thumb inside of her. Robin gives in then and lowers his mouth to her, flattens his tongue and finally runs it right up the center of her, from just below her entrance all the way up to her clit, which he sucks on with a hard pull of his lips before releasing, causing her to gasp and arch her back before he moans and immediately does it again.

 _Christ,_ she tastes fucking delicious.

He cannot believe he’s here right now, his head between her thighs, his tongue on her clit, hands running over her stomach and down to spread her open for him. Robin falls into this euphoric state where all he can think about is _her_ \- the heat of her body, the slickness she makes for him, the salty taste of her skin. He focuses on every stuttered breath she makes, the clench of her fingers in his hair, the way her body rolls up to meet him when he flicks or sucks or rubs _just right_ , until she’s positively squirming beneath him. Then he brings his hands into the mix, sucks his middle finger into his mouth before dipping it gently into her, working it carefully, slowly, thrust by thrust, deeper and deeper inside of her. Regina’s stomach quivers under his other palm, and he presses kisses everywhere he can reach - her hips and thighs, rubs his hand across her soothingly until he’s finally got his finger buried in her all the way.

She’s so tight that he’s shaking with anticipation and perhaps just a bit of fear - unsure how long he’ll last once he’s inside of her since she already feels _so good_. He gives her a few slow, easy thrusts, revels in the warm heat that surrounds his thick middle finger, then adds his ring finger and carefully slides them in together. Regina moans _loudly_ when he enters her, draws her hands up to cover her face as her hips rise and she clenches on him, and Robin bites his lip in satisfaction. There’s not a damned thing wrong with her, he’s certain. She’s so responsive, so sensitive - the fault clearly lies with that dickhead she’s been wasting her time with, and it’s a bloody travesty that she could ever have been convinced otherwise.

Once his fingers are fully sheathed in her, he starts licking and sucking at her folds again, running his tongue over her, teasing her clit, which is _so swollen_ he can’t help but to relentlessly suck and swipe over it. Regina makes delicious noises for him - huffs and pants, and hums out these high-pitched _mmm’s!_ \- when he starts to drive his fingers into her, curling them and rubbing, thrusting, searching for that ultra-sensitive spot he knows she needs him to work over.

“Tell me what you need, babe,” he sucks hard on her clit then shifts his fingers inside of her, adjusts a little to the left. “Deeper? Harder? Faster?”

“Yeah,” she rasps, bites her lip and tips her chin up, the muscles and tendons in her neck taught and straining.

“Be specific,” he changes his tone, tries to be more commanding - she seems to like that. “Need you to tell me what you need this first time, darling. I’m flying blind until I know what you like.”

She makes a noise of protest, but he keeps sliding his fingers inside of her smooth and steady, then starts rubbing her clit in firm, quick circles with his other thumb, and he must get something right, because suddenly she moans and gasps, “Like that! _Just_ like that.”

“There you go, that’s so good,” he commends, and she sucks in a quick breath, so on a hunch he says, “That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” and she fucking bucks up into his hands. Robin smirks, loving how she responds so acutely to positivity. For as long as he’s known her, she has always flourished with praise, when she’s felt the love and sweetness and attention her life has lacked since her father died. She has never responded well to negativity and criticism.

He feels a new rush of wetness coat him as he drives her pleasure up and knows he’s in the right spot now, so he speeds his movements inside of her, but keeps his thumb steady on her clit. She’s positively radiating heat, flushed all over - her breasts, neck, and face glowing beautifully, nipples perked, hands clasped together where he’s tied them and held tightly just under her chin. It’s not enough though, he thinks - she’s still looking like she has too much control, like she hasn’t surrendered it to him, and he thinks that’s what she was trying to tell him she needed before - that she wants him to be in charge.

“Put your hands above your head,” he tells her.

“Why?” she pants, rocking her hips, eyes shut, lips parted.

“Because I told you to,” he says sternly, and when she opens her eyes to argue, he adds, “And you’re excellent at following directions, aren’t you? You’re brilliant, and you trust me to take good care of you, and I want to look at your bouncing tits while I finger your soaking wet pussy,” she moans, and he continues, his voice gravelly, “So put your hands up, Regina, put them up for me, I know you want to - put them up and show me those pretty tits, _now_.”

She makes a desperate little noise that sounds something like a combination between a whimper and a _mhmm_ , then obediently raises her hands up above her head, draping them over the armrest of the couch.

“Perfect,” he nods approvingly, leaning forward over her to kiss each of her nipples, to lick and flick and suckle each one for a moment before he rights himself and goes back to his main focus.

Must. Not. Get. Distracted. By. Regina’s. Stunning. Tits. _Fuck._

Her thighs are shaking now, hips shifting beneath him in little swirls in time with his movements, and the quick, slick slide of his fingers makes these obscene noises that are so hot he moans with the auditory stimulation alone. She’s coating his hand and her inner thighs, her little clit hard under his thumb as he swirls over it vigorously.

“Robin I –” she rasps, her hips jumping suddenly, back arching.

“Relax,” he coaxes, “There’s no rush, let it come when it comes. I’ll stay just like this all night if you need me to.” He speeds the thrust of his fingers, curls them hard and goes deep to hit her g-spot and starts panting himself when her mouth drops open and she keens, widens her legs wantonly and starts begging him for more.

“Yes, _yes,”_ she pleads, “Don’t stop!”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” he reminds, “I’m never stopping, my darling. Not ever. Let it come, I’ll take care of you. Always.”

“Oh-my-god,” she rolls her hips almost wildly, and Robin dies a little, wishes she was riding him, that his cock was buried deep inside of her right now. She’s starting to tighten around his fingers, and he rubs faster on her clit, thrusts into her with punctuated, rapid thrusts that press as hard against her front wall as possible. “I’m, it’s – right, _oh, ohhh!_ ”

She comes fast and hard, with these intense spasms that wring his fingers and flood him with wetness. He leans back and can see it too, can see the way she’s clenching around his fingers, and he bites his lip, tries not to think about the way his zipper is biting into his cock, the way his balls feel heavy with the need for release. Instead, Robin focuses on her, on how he can feel her pulsing, on how her body arches and overheats while he continues to work her over in an attempt to prolong her orgasm.

She trembles and shakes for several seconds, and he keeps steady on her until she attempts to close her legs - apparently she’s had enough - so he lets her, not wanting to overstimulate her too early on. He’s got more, _lots more_ , planned and isn’t figuring on much of a break in between, so he doesn’t want to push his luck. Slowly, he slips his fingers out of her, then sucks them off, enjoying the flavor of her, and _fuck_ she tastes incredible, but it makes him impossibly harder, makes him crave more. He licks each of his fingers clean, then notices her dark eyes staring at him, her chest heaving, lips moist, and before he knows it, he’s pushing her legs back open and dipping down to slide his tongue between her folds all over again.

“Oh god! _Mm!_ ” she wiggles beneath him and moans, her voice husky and low, “It’s too much, too – _mm_ , _oh wait…_ yeah, it’s… _fuck,_ it’s good, _oh goddd_.” She pauses to heave one, two, three deep breaths while he continues to lick and slurp and suck at her - she hasn’t said _stop_ , so he’s not stopping - then she rasps, “ _More…_ _more…_ ” and he fucking grins right against her cunt.

He keeps going, keeps eating at her until he’s thoroughly got her writhing again, her hands in his hair, holding him down tightly as he alternates between sliding his tongue inside of her and pressing it hard on her clit to _rub-rub-rub_ over it while his big hands keep her spread wide open for him. He loves her like this, all wanton and needy and desperate, her body on fire with pleasure, shaking and uncontrolled, dripping with desire, pleading for him to give her what she needs. He feels like a god, like he’s contributing to the betterment of the world, just by bringing _her_ satisfaction - and that’s so fitting isn’t it? Being with Regina Mills has always made him feel like he was a worthwhile human being - he should have known that having sex with her would be no different.

He’s starting to ache with his own needs, though, his cock is throbbing and he’s got to at least get his zipper open because every slight movement pinches him painfully and he doesn’t want any bad memories associated with tonight. Just being allowed near Regina is his greatest wish granted, being intimate with her, knowing he’s gotten her off even once is a dream come true, and everything from here on out is icing on the cake. He’s the luckiest bloke on Earth - he’ll never be convinced otherwise - and he’s going to do everything in his power to make certain that they have the best night possible. Which means he’s got to get his jeans off quick, because his dick is so hard it might cut right through them if he doesn’t tend to it soon.

Robin slows the movements of his lips and tongue, then presses soft kisses all around her core before he eases back from her, pushing himself up enough to sit back on his knees. The soft leather of the couch creaks beneath him as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and tugs it off, then he goes for the fly of his pants, trying to ignore the way his hands tremble. He tells himself it’s just excitement, that it’s just pent up lust, though he _knows_ it’s nerves, _knows_ he’s bloody well terrified of fucking this all up. He’s just slipped the button through the hole when Regina calls to him, and a cold chill runs down his spine.

“Wait.”

_Fuck._

Robin freezes, brings his eyes up and prays he misheard her somehow, that she hasn’t just asked him to stop.

“Wait?” he asks, hands on his fly.

“Please,” she nods and adjusts so she’s sitting up on the couch.

His heart clenches, stomach plummets to the floor. He should’ve known - what was he thinking, going for his pants? Of course she doesn’t want _that_ , of course she doesn’t want him that way.

 _Christ,_ he’s a fucking idiot.

This is Regina Mills, not some silly, loudmouthed bint from the pub. She doesn’t want to sleep with him. He should be thanking his stars she let him get her naked, let alone go down on her. It’s a privilege she’s just granted him, and here he is, trying to get his cock in her like he deserves some sort of reward for doing the bare minimum. Girls like Regina Mills don’t sleep with no-prospect, reject, criminal fuck-ups like him. That’s not the way the world works, and if anyone knows it, he certainly does.

_Fuck._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly, because he really, truly is. He didn’t mean to offend her, he just got caught up, lost his mind for a moment, but he’s back in the game now, he’s refocused, and he won’t make that mistake again, he swears. Robin rebuttons his jeans, presses hard on his cock in a lame attempt to calm himself, runs his fingers through his thoroughly tousled hair, takes a deep breath and finally meets her eyes. “That’s uh, that’s totally my bad, I lost my head but I promise I won’t try it again.” Belatedly he realizes her wrists are still bound together with his belt and he panics, makes a quick grab for her in an attempt to free her.

 _Christ,_ he’s so insensitive she must think he’s a total berk.

She yanks her hands away from him though, says, “No,” and again, he freezes, lost now as to what he’s supposed to do.

But then she tips her head to the side and looks up at him through her long, thick lashes, her dark brown eyes all soft and _so expressive_ , thick black hair curling just a little, and she rocks him right down to his bones when she licks her kiss-swollen lips and says sweetly, “I want to do it.”

He feels like he just fell from ten feet up and all the air got knocked out of his chest. He can’t speak, knows he’ll stutter and he hasn’t got the words in his head anyway, so he just nods stupidly and moves his hands out of the way, blushing like a schoolboy when she reaches for him with this hot little smirk tipping up the corners of her lips.

 _Her_ hands are remarkably steady when she slips the button out and pulls his zipper down, moving with surety and ease even though she's bound. “Will you take them off for me?” she asks, running the backs of her fingers lightly along his stomach and up across his chest until she can cup his face. “You’ve seen me, I want to see you, too.”

Robin swallows thickly, feels every slam of his heart against his ribs and tries hard not to make an arse of himself. “Yeah,” he finally agrees, leans forward and kisses her, because this seems even more unreal than everything they have just done.

Her fingers curl against his cheeks and scratch lightly through his scruff while their lips play against each other, and - _Christ -_ it’s _her_ tongue that seeks entrance to his mouth, apparently content with the fact that he’s had it inside of her only moments ago.

This woman is fucking incredible.

Then she’s pushing him back and urging him up, asking him again to take off his jeans, and he stumbles off the couch, feeling punch-drunk and nervous and aroused all at once.

He toes off his trainers and socks first, then starts to shimmy his jeans down when he hears an unexpected sound - Regina _giggling_ \- and he glances up quickly, embarrassed without knowing why.

She’s eyeing up his boxers - her pretty eyes dancing with mirth, her lips curved up in the _cutest_ grin - and in confusion, he looks back down and finally realizes why.

Oh. _Christ._

They’re black, with red and white candy canes all over them. _Nice_ , he thinks. _Real sexy, real suave, mate. Way to impress her, way to show her how responsible and mature you are now._

He cringes but can’t do anything about it, so he hurriedly takes his pants the rest of the way off and then hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down fast in an attempt to rid himself of them before he totally ruins the mood. He stands back up and steps toward her, even more nervous for her reaction now - she’s never seen him, never really touched him even, and he’s off to a rough start with his ridiculous underwear.

Her eyes are serious now though, downcast as she looks him over, and this zing of excitement shoots through him when she licks her lips and reaches out, gently strokes her tied hands over his hip and down to his thigh.

“Jesus,” she breathes, moving her hands to curl around the back of his leg to guide him closer. She shifts, goes up on her knees so they’re more equal in height and her hands ghost up across his obliques, then down further to tease over his cock, a bit awkward due to the state of her bound hands but bloody-fucking-heavenly regardless. She wraps her fingers around him and starts to stroke, so Robin takes this as permission to touch her again. He threads his fingers into her hair, brushing it back off her forehead, running his other hand down the side of her neck and further to cup her breast, to flick her nipple with his thumb while she gets a feel for him.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, leaning in to kiss her cheek, the corner of her jaw, the sensitive spot just below her ear, where he pauses to swirl and flick his tongue, to suck a little and nip with his teeth.

She hums, makes this low sound in the back of her throat that causes his cock to twitch in her hands, and he sucks hot kisses down the side of her neck, all the way to the top of her shoulder before she speaks.

“Better now,” she twists her wrist over the head of his cock and he thrusts into her palm, lets out this breathy little gasp against her shoulder and tries to pretend he didn’t.

“Ready for more?” he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugs her head back gently and leaves a trail of kisses along her neckline.

“That depends,” she brings her head up and fixes him with a devious look, drops her hands to cup his balls and purses her lips when his breath catches. “What will you give me?”

He leans in and catches her bottom lip between his teeth, sucks for a second and lets it scrape roughly when he pulls back. “You know I’ll give you anything,” he smirks. “But if it’s games you’re wanting to play, you could go ask your architect.”

Her eyes narrow, her fingers move to stroke tightly up and down his length once, _fuck_ , twice, and then she says determinedly, “I don’t want games. I want you to give me –” she gasps when he ducks his head to suck hard just above her collarbone, “ – _give it to me_.”

“Give it to you?” he kisses down her chest, bending to take a nipple in his mouth, one hand slipping between her thighs to slide through her swollen, slick folds, two fingers easing their way up inside of her. “Like this?” he asks, licking over the tip of one breast, then switching to the other and teasing around it with swirls that mimic the way his thumb has now found her clit.

“ _Mmm,_ ” she brings her tied hands up and drops them over his head, parts her thighs further for him and arches her back, but then she says, “No, I want more, want you to, to… _ohhh.”_

He’s increased the speed of his fingers inside of her, is pumping at a faster pace and teasing a third finger at her entrance, wanting to see how she takes the stretch - she’s going to need it to fit him inside of her.

“More?” he suddenly slows way down and cautiously adds that third finger, shallowly thrusting into her snug heat, “You mean like this?” he teases.

Regina tucks her head in against the crux of his shoulder, her forehead against his neck and quick breaths puffing against his collarbone. “ _Oh_ ,” she whines, rocking her hips, “God, Robin, I, I meant… _I meant_ …”

She starts sucking on his neck, up and down, then along his jaw, almost frantically as she rides his hand. Robin runs his other hand down her back, his fingers dancing along her spine all the way to the top of her perfect arse, then grabbing a good handful of one cheek and squeezing. _Blimey_ she feels good - he’s been waiting forever to feel her arse in his hands, she has the best one he has ever seen in his entire life, all round and firm and just begging for him to sink his teeth into - and god, now it’s all he can think about.

His cock bumps her soft stomach and he groans. He can’t take much more of this, it’s been ages since he’s been with a woman, and he’s wanted Regina, specifically, for _so_ long, that holding back is starting to feel like torture. She wants him to fuck her, she’s essentially said as much, and he’s certain she’s getting close again. He can recognize the signs from her now, can feel the way she’s tightening up again, the way her thighs are trembling, the way her breaths have gone ragged and her perfect lips and tongue are running feverishly all over his neck and chest.

“You want me to fuck you, babe?” he asks, slowing down his fingers within her, but continuing to work her clit, needing her to focus for a second, but wanting to keep her on edge. “That what you meant?”

She nods into his shoulder and tries to ride his hand, her hips rocking up and down for a few strokes, then she tugs his head down by her bound wrists behind his neck and rasps in his ear, “Now, Robin, please, I’ve been waiting forever, please, _please_.”

He turns her around on the couch so she’s facing the high backrest on her knees. She’s being stubborn, won’t let him untie her hands (apparently that’s _really_ working for her) and he wants to be able to touch her clit and her tits when he fucks her, but knows he needs to be the one in control right now. Her on top gives her too much control, but all fours isn’t intimate enough, and missionary seems awkward on the couch with her hands tied, so this is the best his lust-clouded brain can come up with under the circumstances.

He prays to god that it’s good enough for her.

“But I want to see you,” she protests as he kneels behind her, strokes his hands down the smooth, toned planes of her back and over her hips.

“You don’t need to be stressing about anything right now but yourself,” he tells her, nudging her knees further apart and palming both cheeks of her arse. _Fuck,_ her arse is perfect.

“But –”

“But nothing,” he interrupts, hoping she doesn’t kill him for it. He dots kisses straight down her spine and takes a firm grip on his cock, rubs the head of it through her slit - _oh god oh god oh god_ \- and adds, “All you need to be thinking about is what a good girl you are for coming on my cock.”

She drops her forehead down to rest on the back of the couch and sighs heavily, but it’s in acceptance, not defeat, he thinks, and with that, he nudges the head of his cock inside of her.

They both exhale loudly as he presses in further, and he’s shaking, _shaking hard_ , trying desperately not to look foolish, to be this controlled hero she needs him to be right now. It’s just that, he’s sliding up into _Regina-bloody-Mills_ , and every single cell in his body is screaming with elation. His eyes are burning with emotion, his heart is clenching, and she’s so tight he might come before he gets all the way inside of her if he doesn’t concentrate.

He stops halfway and pulls out with a groan - it’s too much - he can’t… _fuck,_ he can’t do it.

“Ohh, wait,” she pants when he slides out of her, thrusting her arse back at him - _that’s certainly not helping -_ “Where're you going?”

He drops his head to the top of her shoulder and runs his hands up and down her ribs for a moment as he tries to collect himself.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “Just uh,” he sniffles like a tosser and takes a shuddery breath, “Just needed a second.”

_Get. It. Together. Locksley._

“Please, Robin,” she moans, arching her back and bumping her arse against his cock, then rubs it up and down against him. “I need you, I’m so close. _Please._ ”

He digs deep then and rallies, figures he’s going to come anyway if she keeps rubbing up against him like this, and he might as well try to bring her along with him, especially if she’s as close as she sounds. He puts a hand on her lower back - _Christ,_ she’s got those little dimples above her arse and he aches to kiss them, but that can wait until later, _later_ \- and then he guides himself back inside of her - this time a bit faster, unable to take the slow slide he tried before. She’s too gorgeous, too incredible in every way, and if he goes slow, he’s going to come for sure. Perhaps if he fucks her hard and fast he can skate by for at least a few minutes, if he closes his eyes he just might be able to hold out.

He slides in as far as he feels comfortable with, _almost_ all the way but not quite. Regina’s so tight, he doesn’t know if she _can_ take all of him, so he plays it safe for a few strokes and lets her decide - he watches and listens to her, reaches around to rub her clit as he speeds up and when she moans, or gasps, or makes those high-pitched whines, he gives her a bit more, more, _more_.

He gets so focused on her, in fact, that he sort of forgets about himself for a little while, because she makes it _insanely_ easy to do. Her body is so warm, flushed with this thin sheen of sweat on her back as he fucks into her and grips her hard around the hip with one hand while the other rubs at her clit. She’s constantly moving, rocking her hips and shoving herself back to meet each of his thrusts, driving herself harder and harder onto his cock, trying to take more of him, losing her breath when he rails _hard_ into her, but immediately coming back for more - gasping, _Yes,_ and _Mm!_ and _Oh god,_ every time he hits her just right. His hips slap loudly against her and she’s coating his thighs with her slick heat, but he wants to give her more, wants to make her explode, wants to make her shake and shatter and fall-the-fuck apart. He slams into her once, twice, then scoots back off the couch so he’s standing, tugs her hips so her knees are just barely on the edge of the couch, and without warning, without saying anything at all, he starts fucking her with everything he’s got.

Regina’s hands are still bound but now she’s gripping the top of the couch with white knuckles, her head dropped down between her arms, knees spread wide, pert breasts shaking with each thrust, her arse reddening by the second as Robin’s hips connect with her over, and over, and over. She is, _Christ_ , she is _everything_ \- he’s never seen anything more captivating in his life than the way Regina is right now. The breathy, desperate sounds she makes, the scent of her shampoo, sweat, and sex, the way she’s thoroughly, _willfully_ _receiving_ every single inch of his cock - _fuck fuck fuck -_ he’s going to die a happy man now.

He bends forward, puts one foot up on the couch and starts fucking her deep, swirls his fingers hard on her clit and palms her breast. He tugs on her nipples, switches back and forth between them, twisting and pinching them as she bucks beneath him, then starts telling her how hot she is, how wet, how gorgeous and fit, how he’s never had anyone like her and never will again.

Every word of praise makes her clench, every stroke of her ego causes her breath to stutter, so he keeps at it - it's all true anyway - he tells her how lovely, how sexy and brilliant she is, how he’s so proud of her, how she’s being such a good girl. She starts to shake beneath him, and then - _oh, Christ_ \- she clenches her teeth, arches her neck, and makes this heavenly moan and _comes_ , contracting hard on his cock, her legs kicking a little and hips jerking, losing rhythm, but it’s no matter, because his cock is buried deep, one of his arms is curled tight around her hips and the other is around her chest to hold her securely to him, his lips right against her ear, encouraging her to _get it_ , to let go, because it’s just them, and she can trust him to keep her safe.

Every second of her climax is bliss. He's wrapped around her, wrapped up _in_ her, she's coming so hard, and bloody hell, she's _beautiful_ \- she's everything he's ever wanted. He’s feeling so fucking good, too - she’s _so_ warm and _so_ tight and the way her inner muscles squeeze his cock over and _over_ is just - _fuck_ \- nothing he has experienced before has ever felt this good.

“You’ve got me so close,” he tells her, “That pussy’s so tight, babe, you got me all worked up, gonna make me come so hard,” he moans into the back of her neck as her hips buck and another little rush of wetness slicks his cock. _Good god, does she ever get wet._

“ _Yeah_ ,” she gasps, slamming her hips back to meet him, “Please, come for me, please, _please_.”

 _Oh Christ_ , Regina Mills begging him to _come for her_ is the most erotic thing he has ever heard in his entire life.

“You want my come?” he rasps, thrusting harder, standing more upright and sliding his hands down her body to take a firm grip on her hips. “Want me to fill you up? _Christ_ , Regina, you want my come inside of you?”

“Oh god,” she whines, arching her back sharply, shoving her arse up hard as if to better present her round cheeks to him. He moves his hands to her arse and spreads her open, stares at where he’s fucking into her _so hard_ , and uses his hands to work her against him faster, faster - oh fuck - _faster_. “Yes, yes, come inside me,” she begs.

“We shouldn’t,” he argues, for no reason other than because he’s staring at her arse, and now he wants to come on it, wants to see it drip with his release. “We can’t, oh fuck, I want to, darling, so bad, want to fill this sweet pussy, fill you with as much come as you can take, _fuck, fuck–”_

“Please, Robin!” she pleads, turning her head to look back and jerking her hips. “Please, please, come, come inside me,” she chants, wriggling her arse wildly and for the first time tonight, fighting her bound wrists.

“ _Christ_ ,” he hisses, he’s going to, he can feel it, _fuck_ , he’s about to come, his cock is pulsing, his balls are so heavy, he can feel that pulling sensation, oh god, fuck yes, “I’m, I’m gonna come,” - “Inside me!” she interrupts - but he shakes his head, they shouldn’t, oh fuck they shouldn’t, “On your arse,” he suggests with a groan, thrusting shallow and fast.

“Yeah, come on me, all over me, I want it, please do it, _do it_ ,” she’s breathless and moaning when he finally gives up control, little bursts of light spark in front of his eyes, and he quickly pulls out. Robin pumps himself to completion with one hand while his other hand grasps one round, plump cheek of her arse, keeping her spread open as the white jets of his release paint her, thoroughly coating her lower back, arse, and thighs.

Gasping for air, his cock still throbbing in his fist, he takes a second to admire the picture in front of him. Regina’s as worn out as he is, trying to catch her breath, her bound hands clinging to the top of the couch and her head hanging down, knees spread wide and her slightly reddened arse thrust high in the air, with stripes of his come crisscrossing and dripping down her otherwise flawless skin. He steps closer, unable to help himself, and full out grins when he sees that a good amount of his release is currently running down over her puckered rear to tease and coat her slick, swollen cunt - and _blimey_ , he’s never, _ever_ going to get over _that._

As soon as he catches his breath, he grabs some napkins off the snack table and gets to work cleaning her up - she might’ve been alright with him making a mess but he knows Regina, and he certainly knows it’s his duty to clean up. She holds steady under his gentle ministrations, doesn’t say anything while he does it, even lets him tend to her more sensitive areas, and he feels proud of that - that she’ll let him take care of her like this. It feels very _domestic_ , and it makes him want things he shouldn’t - at the very least, it makes him wish they were in her bedroom so he had running water and could wash her up properly.

He immediately reaches for her hands then, unties his belt and pulls her down onto his lap, where he starts to rub at the indents the leather has made in her skin.

“You alright?” he asks, running his hands over her carefully, hoping she hasn’t bruised or been cut by the edges of the belt.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, her head against his shoulder, legs across his lap.

“ _We_ alright?” he circles his arm around her back, and turns his face to hers, so they’re nose to nose.

“I think so,” she says thoughtfully, then looks up at him. “What do _you_ think?”

“I feel exactly the same now as I did before,” he smiles and tucks a few strands of her hair back.

“Me too,” she returns his smile, tips her chin up and kisses him.

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling a bit thick, knowing she’s already said it once tonight, but it doesn’t seem possible that she’s as into him as he is her. She’s too good for him, she shouldn’t want him - only in his dreams has he allowed himself to hope she does.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” she rolls her eyes and pulls back enough that he can see her clearly. “And anyway, that was…" she pauses, bites her lip, " _You_ are…" Regina gives him a _very_ suggestive look, "Wow."

He can feel his brows nearly hit his hairline. "Wow?"

She nods and runs her soft fingers over his scruffy cheek. His heart clenches with her natural beauty, with the devilish way she looks into his eyes as she draws him in for a slow, easy kiss and repeats in that low, sexy-as-fuck voice, " _Wow."_

Relief floods his entire body, and he tugs her close, then tips over and pulls her with him so that she’s laying right on top of him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. She fits against him like his matching puzzle piece, her smaller body fully supported on him, her chin propped up on her hands, right over his heart so she can look down into his face as they chat quietly and come down from the high they just experienced together. He plays with her hair, runs his hands up and down her back, and gets a nice handful of her arse to squeeze every now and again, while she traces circles on his chest, plays footsie with him, and drops down to press kisses to his collarbone whenever she bloody well feels like it (which apparently, is often).

It’s been five years since he accidentally, sort-of told her he was in love with her outside of Tuck’s Pub, but from the warmth and mirth that seems to seep from Regina’s body directly into his, it’s clear that his feelings haven’t faded. If anything, he thinks he might feel more strongly for her than he ever has before. It has been such a long time since he has felt so complete, felt so happy, and calm, and satisfied - sure, he’s had moments of contentment since the last time he saw her, but he certainly hasn’t experienced all of those feelings at once.

The combination of them, well that’s something that only seems to happen when he’s with _her_ , and he’s got years of examples on his side to prove it.

Which is why he’s no longer afraid to tell her what he has been so nervous to tell her before now. He can see that she’s still that audacious, caring, determined, incredible girl he remembers from his youth, and he trusts her. He’s confident that when he finds the right time to tell her, she’s going to be her typical, brilliant self - she’s going to have about a million questions, sure, but she’s going to get it, she’s going to understand why he’s doing what he’s doing, and everything is going to be alright.

But right now is obviously not the right time, so he’s going to let them have this moment, and he’s going to let them have it without any further complications, because she puts so much stress on herself already, and he doesn’t want to add to her worries. For now, he’s just going to keep them in the blissfully _uncomplicated_ , and tomorrow he will tell her, and everything will be alright, he’s sure of it.

* * *

She didn’t know it could be like this.

It seems silly now that she didn’t see it. Ridiculous that she has spent so much time accepting something less, that she’s been doing exactly what Robin accused her of earlier tonight - _settling_ \- when there was so much more waiting for her, right here, inside the circle of this beautiful man’s arms.

But she _didn’t_ know what was in front of her, and even if she had, she would not have trusted it to be real anyway. She’s still not sold that Robin can be _this_ nice, _this_ sincere, she’s not sure _anyone_ can be. It’s difficult for her to accept that he means all of these sweet things he says to her, when no one else seems to think she’s much of anything, when she’s been told over and over that she falls short in every category that _he_ seems to think she excels in.

Hell, even she’s dubious of her merits. Sure, she’s attractive and yes, when she _applies herself,_ as her mother and Daniel are so keen to remind her, she can squeak out a decent tune or two on her violin. But past that, she knows she’s nothing special.

Not according to Robin, though.

Oh no, from the second they’ve been reunited he’s been telling her she’s _gorgeous_ , he’s been making comments on how much he’s missed her, telling her how talented she is - how she _moves him_ with her music - how he’s proud of her, how she is goodness and perfection and how he can’t stop thinking about her _._ He keeps going on and on about how _incredible_ she feels when he’s inside of her, when she’s pressed up against him, or on top of him, and now he’s gone so far beyond paying her simple compliments that she’s given up arguing with him about it and gotten completely swept away by this love-sick post-orgasmic haze. Which is exactly what she’s blaming as the cause for why she’s currently stretched out like a lazy cat next to him, basking in the familiar scent of the balsam and cedar cologne that still clings to his overheated, flushed skin.

His lips are moving slowly over her breasts again now, teasing at her nipples, sucking softly and slowly, completely unhurried, his tongue slipping out to flick and swirl, while one of his hands glides down between her thighs, where he presses the pad of his finger to her clit and starts to rub. Everything about him now is gentle, careful, including each thought that floats through his mind, which he apparently feels the need to share with her as he continues to learn her body.

“How come you’re so soft everywhere?” he murmurs, “It’s not enough that you look like a pinup girl, and you smell like heaven, and you taste delicious - you’ve got to feel like cashmere too?” Robin nuzzles his nose against her sternum and puffs out a breath, laughing softly at his own words.

“You better rein yourself in,” she teases in an attempt to hide the silly flutter he creates in her chest, “before you give us both cavities with all that sappy sweetness.”

“S’the truth,” he mumbles, his lips against her skin, pressing little kisses, the scruff of his beard rasping a little, causing goosebumps to rise and her nipples to tighten into stiff peaks. His fingers delve further between her thighs to swipe through her slick heat, and he lets out a deep breath before he whispers, “Oh, darling, you’re already wet again. _Christ_ , that’s so hot.”

She huffs a short laugh - _of course_ she is, how could she not be? - and parts her thighs, allowing him to explore her better, knowing that’s what he wants. Robin is so different from Daniel, so different from any of the other boyfriends she’s had. He told her he wants to _really_ know her, to know what she likes and doesn’t like, what gets her off, how she’s built and _exactly_ where and how to touch her in order to do just that. He’s the first person who has ever truly wanted to learn her, and she’s not stupid enough to stop him from doing that. Not when he’s promised to make her come as many times as he can, not when he’s already made her feel _so good,_ when he’s made her feel so incredibly well-cared for that she can hardly stand to look in his eyes anymore without feeling her heart bounce around wildly like a pinball in her chest.

He is so good to her that it hurts.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, dipping two fingers inside of her, the slight stretch making her exhale sharply, her eyes fluttering just a little at the full sensation, “If I’d come inside you earlier, this would be my come, mixed with you right now. That’s what we’d be using to rub you off.”

“Jesus,” she breathes, letting that sink in. They definitely _should not_ do that, she should not have told him to come inside of her earlier, and she’s glad he resisted. She’s on the pill but _god_ , it’s not one-hundred percent effective and the last thing they need is a child to make their relationship even more complicated. But she can’t quite deny that there is something alluring about the _idea_ of him spilling deep inside of her, of his hot release slowly seeping out, dribbling down the insides of her thighs, of him running his fingers through the slickness he’s created, using it as lube to bring her to orgasm yet again… _fuck_. It makes her pulse kick up a few notches, makes her thrust her hips against his hand and close her eyes as she pictures it.

“Is that something you like?” he asks, curling his fingers inside of her and starting to swirl them lightly, “Do you like having your man come inside of you?”

She blows out a hot breath and wraps her fingers around the back of his neck, urges him up so he is face to face with her again, and wraps her leg around his hip so he can drive his fingers deeper and deeper inside of her.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I haven’t, actually, haven’t experienced it.”

His eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t stop the pulse of his fingers, the flick of his thumb across her increasingly sensitive clit. “No?” he sounds surprised, and when she shakes her head, he says with obvious confusion, “But you told me to…?”

“I know,” she nods. God, the way he’s tapping his fingers inside of her is starting to feel _so_ good - _really, really good._ “I thought we could - _mm, like that -_ thought we could try it,” she presses a kiss to his lips and keeps her face tucked in close to his, foreheads pressed together.

“You did?” he returns her kiss with a kiss of his own, then sounds rather astonished when he asks, “You wanted to do that with _me_?”

He’s swirling on her clit now, and her body is thrumming, heat flooding her core, making it hard to think of anything except what his wonderful, thick fingers are doing to her, but she tries. “Yeah,” she gasps, “ _God, that’s so good -_ is that so hard to believe?”

He leans down and kisses her, slides his tongue into her mouth and moans quietly when she reaches down and clutches the back of his arm in an attempt to hold his hand exactly where it is - oh, that’s just right - he’s hitting that super sensitive spot, oh god, _fuck,_ that’s, _that’s just right._

She’s lost for several seconds then, selfishly concentrating on her own pleasure, not realizing that he’s gone quiet until he breaks his silence and whispers, “A bit, yeah,” against her lips, and she has to think extra hard to remember what the hell it is they were talking about.

When it hits her, when she realizes that he’s just told her _again_ tonight that he doesn’t really believe her, a shock of hurt smacks into her chest, immediately followed by this intense feeling of indignation, which all but snuffs the flames of lust that were burning beneath the sure strokes of his fingers. She jerks her head back so she can see him, her brows scrunched and eyes narrowed, nails biting into his arm in a clear signal for him to _stop_ what he’s doing, because she’s _pissed_ , and this is just, well, it’s _unacceptable._

“Are you serious?” she searches his eyes and has his answer before he even opens his mouth - _yes._

_Unacceptable._

Regina pushes his hand away, flinching as his thick fingers slide out of her, and sits up quickly despite his protests. She runs her hands across her face, through her jet-black, mussed up hair, and down her neck, her almond eyes flitting around the room, trying desperately to come up with something, _anything_ to show him that he’s wrong about her. Anger flares through her, fueling her irritation with his lack of faith in her. How on Earth can he think so little of her? What has she ever done to be so untrustworthy?

_You know, besides leave him to possibly rot in jail for five years without so much as a phone call to see if he’s alive or dead._

Her eyes come to rest on one of the tables across the room, and she notices that in the center of it is a small pile of permanent markers. Her eyes narrow as an idea comes to her, and she shoves herself up off the couch in a flash, strides over to the table and snatches up a black sharpie. She returns to him just as quickly, determination and adrenaline rushing through her, and she shoves him down on the couch with one firm hand pressing into his collarbone. Then she straddles his lap and pulls the cap off the marker with her teeth.

He looks stunned, but he holds up his forearm to her as if he knows what she wants. He doesn’t though, he has no idea what’s in store for him, and she shakes her head _no,_ then spits out the cap of the marker and gets to work on him.

She starts on his chest, draws a large, ornate heart with an arrow through it on his left pectoral, and immediately writes the words, _STILL the Property of Regina Elizabeth Mills_ inside of it. Now is not the time for initials - if he wants to know how serious she is when she says these intimate, sensitive things to him, if he wants her to prove how she feels about him, then she’ll put it in writing.

She draws another arrowed heart on his ribs, just as large, and writes the same message, then even puts some filigree and scrollwork in it, because why not make it pretty if she’s going to put her mark on him?

She keeps going and surprisingly, he doesn’t try to stop her as she adds marker tattoos to his abs, then each of his hips, his thighs, his calves, even the arches of his feet - everywhere and anywhere she damn well pleases. Her artwork admittedly gets a little sloppy as she goes - her temper and possessiveness making her movements jerky so that she’s scribbling more than anything, but she doesn’t care - her artistic skills aren’t the point. When she gets to his forearm, though, she does slow down and add a nicer heart tattoo there, and then she adds one to his opposite bicep, before she commands him to turn over so she can graffiti the hell out of his shoulders, back, and ass too, just because she can.

When she’s done, she’s a little winded from her efforts, her hands stained with black ink and her pulse thrumming as she orders him to his feet, directing him to spin in a slow circle so she can admire her handywork.

Robin raises his eyebrows but turns for her, his own eyes falling to look at the way she’s used his body as her own personal canvas. She’s pleased to see that the marker doesn’t look as ridiculous as she expected - he’s such a beautiful man that it would be hard to make him look bad anyway - but she loves how his shoulders are so broad and bulky, how his chest and arms are thick and defined with gorgeous layers of muscle- thanks, no doubt, to an occupation where he lifts heavy objects all day. She notices that he’s smirking as he checks himself out, the corners of his eyes crinkling _so_ handsomely, and it’s like somehow the ink amplifies this new confidence she has discovered in him. He meets her eyes and doesn’t shy away from her heated gaze at all, he stands straight and tall in the lamplight of the cigar lounge while she tries to commit him to memory, this gorgeous man, _her_ Robin, who always seems to smile a little brighter when she writes her name on him.

There’s something to that, she supposes, because the longer she stares at the way her flowing script interrupts the smooth golden planes of his body, the more it pulls this hot thread of desire in her. And the way he’s allowed her to stake her claim without any sort of protest, without any hesitation even, well, his loyalty makes her fingers flex, makes her toes curl, makes her cross her legs and sit back against the couch in pure satisfaction when she thinks about the look that might cross Marian’s face should she happen to catch a glimpse at what's been written all over him.

Dragging her eyes slowly up and down his hard, muscular body one more time, Regina cocks a brow and purrs, “Any questions?”

Robin chuckles, then breaks into a huge Cheshire cat grin and shakes his head. “Nope.”

She starts to roll her eyes but quits when he drops to his knees before her, and except for the devious glint in his eye and the cocky quirk of one side of his mouth, she could almost say he looks like the perfect picture of submission. A shiver of nervous anticipation runs down her back when, with a large, calloused hand on each of her calves, he carefully uncrosses her legs, then slides his hands up along her inner thighs, pushing them further and further apart as he goes, until she’s spread obscenely open for him. His hands skate around to her ass, and he tugs her toward the edge of the couch until he has her perched on the very edge of it, leaning back. He dips down and without any sort of preamble, he runs his tongue right through her folds, his hands on her ass keeping her mercilessly tight against his mouth as he starts to flick and suck on her clit, dipping down every now and again to slip his tongue inside of her.

Regina arches her back in pleasure, _god_ he’s good with his mouth, and hums her appreciation.

"That feels so good," she moans when he tongues her swollen clit in quick succession, "God, I wish you could do this all the time," she muses, greedy for more, even in the midst of his talent.

Robin pulls back for a moment, presses a kiss just above where he's been licking so perfectly and raises his eyes to hers. "I’d do this for you constantly,” he murmurs. “I'd do it every day, as many times as you want, whenever, wherever you want," he exhales a hot breath that coasts over her lower stomach, his big, warm hands running up the tops of her thighs all the way to her hips, "If we were… if only… if you were mine."

Regina's throat constricts, making it impossible to speak, and she frowns. She doesn’t understand how he can so easily read every other emotion that runs through her, but somehow not see the way she wears her heart on her sleeve for him. Then she notices she's still holding the permanent marker, and before she can change her mind, she bends her wrist awkwardly and writes, _Property of RL_ across the bikini line of her left hip.

"There," she croaks, tipping her head to the side and blinking quickly as she finishes the letters, which were difficult to write upside down, but at least turned out legible.

Robin stares for a moment, looking dumbstruck and tracing his finger slowly around the ink. When he finally looks back up, he's smiling softly, sweetness positively _shining_ in his blue eyes.

"You’re serious?" he asks quietly, hope feathering through his words, reminding her _so much_ of the younger version of him that she fell for year after year in this very same room.

"Mmhm." She doesn’t trust her voice, so she doesn’t say anything more, just licks her bottom lip and bites it, awaiting his reaction, wondering if this is too much for them. She knows she shouldn't do this, shouldn't commit to giving him something she's not sure she is actually capable of giving, but she can't seem to stop herself. In this moment, she desperately wants to put his name on her body, wants to show him that he’s in her heart, just as much as she is in his, and this is the only way she knows how to do it without uttering three simple words that she is certainly not prepared to say, not even to herself.

Slowly, with the grace and strength of a large, predatory feline, Robin crawls up her body, moving from the floor to the couch, nose to nose with her, their lips a whisper apart, his hands urging her to turn and lay on her back. She does as he silently bids her, shifts around and stretches out on the couch as he moves over her, bracing himself on one arm while his other hand smooths around the flare of her hip to the round swell of her ass, his fingers skating down the cleft, then to the back of her thigh, guiding her leg up to hook over his hip.

He’s nudging at her then, _god_ , the tip of him poised to slip inside of her, primed with her slippery need, but he’s too busy kissing her to give her the thrust it would take to push him past anything other than teasing. Regina runs one hand up into his soft hair and tugs, kisses him hotly, nips at his lips and engages his tongue, plays roughly with hers. She smooths her other hand over Robin’s ribs, then down his lower back to his ass. He’s so muscular, _god,_ he’s firm _everywhere_ , she can feel the flex of him beneath her hand without him even doing anything, and she digs her fingers in, lets her nails bite until he breaks their kiss on a _mm!_

“Impatient, are you?” he smirks, “This what you’re wanting?” He rocks his hips a tiny bit and slips inside of her an inch, but then much to her dismay, he suddenly pulls out, and she whimpers in protest. “Or is there something else I can give you?”

“That,” she adjusts her leg on his hip and tries to pull him closer, but he just chuckles and rises up a little higher on his knees, well out of range. “Robin,” she mewls, “come on, don’t make me wait.”

“Wait for what?” he raises his brows expectantly.

“For you to fuck me,” she slides her hands across the tops of his shoulders and down his arms.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head slowly, his expression still teasing, but intense now too, his eyes blazing as he locks them on hers and leans his face a little closer, his voice low and steady. “But I don’t _fuck_ what’s mine. I treat my _property_ with care, with only the proper respect that you are _so_ deserved, my darling.”

Her heart seizes - he’s too much, too good, too perfect.

She can’t breathe.

But thankfully, she doesn’t have to.

Robin leans down and slams his lips to hers, followed a half a second later by the hard thrust of his hips and the wide stretch of his cock as he slides in and bottoms out inside of her, and the needy sob she makes against his mouth forces her to take in the air her lungs so desperately need. Regina clings to his back, her arms wrapped up under his shoulders, her nails digging into his shoulder blades as he plunges into her over and over with these powerful, drawn-out strokes that shake her entire body every time he buries himself deep.

He’s so strong, so big, that it’s only a few thrusts before the antique wood of the couch starts to creak beneath them, Robin’s vigorous pounding straining the old furniture beyond what it might once have handled. Regina’s moaning almost constantly though, her voice mixing in with the protesting furniture, and she can’t seem to care - he feels too good, is _so deep_ , she’s getting wetter by the thrust, and every _slap_ of his pelvis hits her swollen clit, makes her buck and plead for _More, more, oh god, more!_

Robin slows down a little though, and suddenly she feels her arms being pulled up, up over her head, where he holds both of her wrists with one hand as he slips the other between them. His fingers start to swirl on her clit, and she twists and _fuck,_ writhes beneath him when he swivels his hips and hits that sensitive spot deep inside of her.

He smiles at her, murmurs, “Let go, let _me_ get you off,” circles his hips again to find her g-spot and - _oh-god-oh-god-oh-god_ \- the second he does, he starts up a quick, sharp rhythm _right_ against it. She’s going to, _fuck,_ she’s gonna, any second –

“Let _me_ ,” his fingers press down hard on her clit and massage fast, swirling vigorously, _relentlessly_ over the hard little bud. Oh, Jesus, her entire body is arching, heat and sharp pleasure is building inside with every thrust of his cock. “You’re mine, and I take care of you now,” he growls, tightening his grip on her wrists. Her clit is tingling, pleasure is blooming rapidly, hot like liquid lava, _fuck, fuck,_ she’s, oh, Jesus, she’s – “You don’t have to worry about this anymore. I’m going to make you come all the time, going to give this to you constantly. You’re never going to have to concern yourself with this ever again.”

She comes so hard she knocks her forehead against his collarbone with the force, her body curling forward then trembling, trembling, _trembling_ apart, heat and wetness flooding her core and slicking him as he continues to pump into her, groaning softly into her ear. Robin releases her wrists and holds the back of her head to his neck with that hand, but keeps thrusting, keeps playing with her clit and dragging out her orgasm as she contracts repeatedly around him, little spasms racing along her inner muscles, working his thick length while she gasps for air and mouths the top of his shoulder in something akin to a bite, but without the force.

He’s sitting up then, pulling her along with him, guiding her onto his lap while he leans back against the cushions. She feels his hand at the back of her neck, guiding her face to his so he can capture her lips in a lengthy kiss, his tongue diving in to play against hers. She could kiss him for forever, the rasp of his stubble against her cheeks and the soft press of his lips is a delicious combination she has learned to covet in the span of just a few short hours.

She’s dizzy and still shaking, but he helps her straddle him, and god, she shouldn’t be, but she’s already eager for more. She’s so eager, in fact, that she shifts forward and rubs the head of him through her slick core without any provocation, then she sinks all the way down onto him, nuzzling her face into the crux of his neck and moaning quietly with the sublime stretch that his superior endowment challenges her with.

Her vision is hazy, but Regina watches Robin watching her, loving the way he chews on his bottom lip, the way a blush has reddened his chest, neck, and cheeks, the way his eyes are glued to where he disappears inside of her, where her slick, pink lips are spread around the base of him, her clit still pulsing from the assault it has taken tonight. Jesus, he’s handsome. Handsome, and perfect, and, at least until the marker wears off, he’s _hers._

“ _Blimey_ ,” he breathes, his hands clutching tightly at her hips, moving her up just a couple of inches before he tugs her back down at the same time he thrusts up. “ _So bloody tight_ , babe.”

Regina squeezes her eyes shut and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. He just hit her g-spot _exactly_ , drove right where she needed him to on the _first thrust_ , and god, if that doesn’t mean they’re a perfect fit, she doesn’t know what the hell does. Robin’s large hands take a firm grip on her hips and he encourages her to rock on him, which starts them into this steady rhythm where every fifth or sixth thrust, Regina shoves herself down a little harder, driving the tempo up and up and up.

Whatever CD was playing when they started this has apparently run out of tracks, and the fire has burned down low, now barely more than embers, so the only real sounds in the room are those stemming from the increasingly desperate pace of their lovemaking. The slick slide of him in and out of her is positively obscene, the repeated slap of her ass against his thighs as she bounces on him is beyond lewd, and their panting breaths, interrupted only by desperate moans, sharp gasps, and an occasional, high-pitched whimper from Regina, are lascivious at best. The room smells like fire, and sweat, and sex, and dark shadows from the dim, antique lamplight are cast across them now, making the murals they’ve made on their golden skin stand out even more. Regina is lost in it - everything just, _god_ , it all just seems to turn her on more - but especially the way Robin looks, and the way he _looks at her._ She once accused him of acting like he was some cocky Greek god, but now she’s starting to think she wasn’t too far off in that assessment - everything about him drives her arousal higher and higher - there’s no way he’s a mere mortal.

Robin slips one hand between them and starts to roughly thumb her clit, pressing hard and rubbing fast. His other hand firmly squeezes her ass as she leans back a little, arching and swiveling her hips, widening her legs to take him deeper, searching for that perfect angle, and then bouncing on him at a frantic pace the second she finds it.

“Ask me for it,” he tells her quietly. “Ask me to make you come.”

“Make me come,” she instantly pants.

“No,” he drawls, “That’s not what I said. _Ask_ me to,” he corrects, his fingers leaving her clit to take purchase on her ass, his hands wrapping around each cheek, pulling her up and down fast, _fast_ on him.

“Please, Robin,” she pleads, her hands on his shoulders, “ _Please._ ”

“ _Ask me_ , darling,” he thrusts up hard and she keens in response, “You don’t need to beg - not ever. I _want_ to give it to you. All you’ve got to do is ask me for it.”

Her affection for him skyrockets - he’s not trying to degrade her with his request, he’s not trying to tear her down or bring her to her knees, no - he’s trying to support her, trying to take the pressure off and remove the stress of trying to come by giving _him_ the job of _doing it for her._ She has full faith in him, and the idea of entrusting her pleasure to him is so enticing that Regina suddenly _wants_ to ask him to make her come, to do this for her, but she can’t focus. He’s not even touching her clit anymore but it’s throbbing wildly, she’s all fire and sparks inside, a sharp ache flaring through her every single time he slides up inside of her.

Robin’s hands move from her ass to her shoulders then, slide quickly down her arms to her wrists, and he captures them, then tugs them down and carefully twists her arms behind her back. He exchanges hands behind her, so he’s crossed her arms behind her, and he’s holding tight to her opposite hands in his, effectively shackling her with his bare hands.

He tugs lightly on her hands, which causes her to arch her back, and - _oh, shit, oh god_ \- there is no escape at all now - no relief from the way he pistons quickly within her. He’s deep - _fuck -_ she’s already starting to feel those little flutters inside, and she’s locked down tight on his lap, still bouncing a little, flexing her thighs and trying to take more of him, because she’s greedy, and selfish, and it’s what she does, it’s who she is, and –

“Ask me,” Robin pulls on her arms, arches her back, and leans forward to suck hard on her peaked nipple.

His lips feel _so good_ \- _fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck -_ the sensation shoots straight to her clit, and she moans loudly, makes these desperate, high-pitched, _Ah-ah-ah!’s_ that she doesn’t even try to muffle.

“Ask me, _now,_ ” he growls, his hips jumping beneath hers, their slicked thighs slapping against each other, “Ask me to give you what you need, what you deserve.”

There is nowhere to go. Regina is completely at the mercy of this gorgeous man, of his wonderful heart and his damned good intentions, and she knows she can’t fool him, will never be able to talk him out of this, not that she wants to. So she finally gives in, scrunches her eyes shut and drops her head back, accepting her fate.

“Will you, _oh god,_ will you make me come?” she asks, “Please, _please_?”

“Absolutely,” he groans, then he pulls hard on her hands and arches her sharply, driving up into her with a speed she knows she can’t match. So she just spreads her legs as wide as she can, taking all of him as he slams up into her as fast - _mmm -_ and as hard - _oh-god-oh-god-oh-god_ \- and as roughly - _yes, yes!_ \- as possible. She shatters in seconds, her inner muscles clenching wildly, trills of pleasure rushing up and down her spine, racing to each erogenous zone, Robin’s lips on her breasts, sucking hard at her nipples as he fucks up into her.

He slips out suddenly, and she groans her protest, tries to take him back inside, but Robin presses gently on her hip with one hand and murmurs, “Can’t, oh, fuck babe, _coming_.”

He pumps his length quickly, tightly, with his other hand, and in the span of a heartbeat, she’s _insanely_ jealous of that hand. It should be _her_ hand, it’s only fair, and she yanks his hand away roughly, replacing it with hers as she sits on his thighs and takes over the rapid strokes she had watched him make.

His hips make these desperate little thrusts up into her fist as she works him - _Jesus she loves that_ \- and he’s biting his lip, watching her fingers slide over him, then glancing up to her chest, and back down to her hand. One of his hands lifts to play with her breast, his calloused fingers playing with her nipple, tugging and rolling it, while his other hand slides back between her thighs. He moans at the slickness he encounters, and then starts to slide two fingers inside of her, and she’s so sensitive now that she automatically jerks against him. She has to ride his fingers for a few seconds before she can settle and sink down on them like he apparently wants, but once he has his fingers buried in her, his breath hitches and his lips part, so she pumps him faster and tightens her fist, then kisses his lips and tells him, “Will you come on my stomach for me, baby?”

He nods frantically, and she starts to kiss him again, but then his fingers slip out of her to wrap firmly around the top of her thigh, and she can feel the evidence of his hot release on her fingers as she strokes him to completion. Regina slides her body closer as he comes, and they both watch in rapture as the thick, white jets coat her stomach.

When he’s done, he holds tightly to her hips, Regina wraps her arms around his neck, and they stay just as they are for a few minutes. Their foreheads are pressed together, noses brushing sweetly, swollen lips meeting to press and pull in between heavy breaths, bodies shaking with exertion, adrenaline, and exquisite release. When they have recovered a little, Regina sits back on his thighs, then carefully stands on shaking legs, and Robin reaches up to swirl his fingers through the mess he’s made on her stomach. She lets him, is just as fascinated by it as he is, though it’s cooling quickly and they should wash it off soon, but then he runs his fingers down across where she wrote _Property of RL_ , tracing the letters with his come-coated fingers, and she can’t quite catch her breath. He hears her, must see the way her stomach quivers with obvious excitement, because then he gathers a good amount of his creamy release on two fingers and, looking up at her from beneath his thick blonde lashes, he slips them between her thighs and rubs them all over her swollen folds, thoroughly coating her with it, before he slides one thick finger up inside of her.

And her reaction?

_She moans._

Regina knows she should not want this. Should _not_. Should-not-should-not-should-not.

But her knees are weak and she’s pushing him back down on the couch to sink onto his fingers anyway, pressing him into the leather and kissing the _hell_ out of him, driving her tongue into his mouth, _panting_ with the intensity of her _feelings_ and this red-hot desire that _just won’t quit._

And it is in that moment that she knows, without a shred of doubt, that she is foolishly, desperately, absolutely in love with Robin Locksley.

_Fuck._

* * *

It’s been two hours and that pencil-pushing neck-tie wearing brown nosing git hasn’t left Regina’s side for even a second.

Robin scowls. You’d think from the way he’s been throwing back the champagne, that the wanker would at least have to use the loo, but he must be crossing his legs or something, because in between trips back and forth across the large ballroom, Robin hasn’t been able to catch Regina without Daniel’s escort, and it’s not for lack of trying.

But even from a distance he can see that she’s bloody gorgeous tonight - there is absolutely no doubt about that.

She’s in a dress that’s almost as stunning as she is - it’s floor length, with a soft, flowing skirt in this lovely blue color, but the sleeveless top is sort of off-white, with glittery jewels all over it that make it sparkle brilliantly when the light catches it. She’s tamed her jet-black, natural waves into softly flowing curls that brush the sides of her face, and her makeup is pristine but more natural looking tonight - her full lips are glossy and her lids lined - but nothing is overstated or _too_ accentuated by the heavy dark tones he’s seen her with sometimes. She has diamonds in her ears and around her wrist, and she looks classy, looks every bit the aristocrat she’s been raised to be, especially with that irritated glower plastered across her face and the way she glares at her architect as if she thoroughly detests his presence.

Robin is standing at the back of the party with John, the two of them all spiffed up in their tuxedos, awaiting their next orders. Marian’s mother and father run a tight ship, but Robin and John are used to it, having done this job long enough now to have a good routine worked out. As the senior statesmen of the crew these days, they know how important it is for them to be in the right place at the right time, and they’ve learned to keep an eye out for the unexpected, like wobbly stage planks, or rickety chairs, or tipsy guests who need to be escorted out before they make a belly flop onto the hors d'oeuvres table. They’ve both got earpieces too, handy upgrades the Fitzwalter’s booming business has recently invested in, which are connected to radios that allow the staff to communicate, and have made his and John’s job a hell of a lot easier.

“Hey,” John nudges him, “How’d it go with your rich girl last night?”

Robin tries to keep a straight face, but a smirk slips through, so he ducks his head, gives his best nonchalant shrug and says, “S’alright.”

“You get any real talkin’ done, or just pillow talk?”

Robin whips his head up, feels his ears heating (knows they’ve gone red), but John is being merciful, grinning as he looks out at the crowd and spares him eye contact.

“Er, uh, I mean, we talked…” Robin stammers. “We talked quite a bit, actually.”

“That right?” John presses. “You finally get her number then?”

Robin opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. _Bloody fucking hell._ No, no he did _not_ get her number. The fuck is _wrong_ with him? That should have been the very first thing he did. _Christ he’s a pillock._

“Uh, I’m uh, I’m getting there,” he crams his hands in his pockets and feels exceptionally foolish. Here he is, pining after the same woman he’s fallen arse over elbow for _yet again_ , and he can’t even give her a ring to say hello. How is it he never seems to learn his lessons? _Fuuuck._

“Better get there quick,” John nods in the direction Robin last saw Regina and Daniel, and now she is standing close to Daniel, clearly agitated and speaking in his ear while the tosser pulls faces and appears to argue with her. “She don’t look like she’s having a very good time, mate, and that girl’s a runner, if I ever saw one.”

Robin nods - he knows, dammit, _he knows_. He’s about to bite the bullet and go see what Mr. Master’s Degree is bitching about, but then a familiar hand is on his arm, and Marian’s fussing over him, untying his bowtie and chiding him for his _unkempt_ appearance.

“Blimey, I wish you’d shave,” she shakes her head, but she’s smiling while she works on his tie. “You look so much more debonair with a clean face.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he smirks, “We both know you just don’t like how it catches in your mad hair,” he teases.

Marian flicks her long, dark brown ringlets over her shoulders and pulls his bowtie tight, then fidgets with it until she gets it just so. “That’s part of it,” she grins, reaching up to cup his face and run her fingers over his cheeks. “And I don’t like how it makes you look all grown up,” her eyes grow a bit serious, then sad, and she drops her hands, absently runs one across her stomach.

John’s either not paying attention to them, or he’s doing a fine job of pretending not to, but Robin steps closer to her anyway, ducks his face close to hers so he can speak to her in confidence.

“Feeling alright today?” he asks quietly, and she nods, her big brown eyes soft but still holding that edge of fear he’s come to know so well these last few weeks.

He brushes her hair off her forehead and squeezes her shoulder. “Did you get any rest up north? Time to think about what I proposed?”

Again, Marian nods. “Yeah, and I think we’re doing the right thing. I feel, I feel like it’s the right thing to do, for _everyone_. As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he tells her with one-hundred percent certainty. He has never been more sure of anything.

Marian gives him a weak smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Robin smiles, feels his heart swell with a pride he never expected. “We’re in this together,” he locks eyes with her. “You have my word.”

She looks like she’s trying not to cry and nods, then goes up on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek sweetly. Marian slides over to John then, ignores his grumbling protests (which they all know he doesn’t mean), straightens his cummerbund, fixes a few locks of his hair and scolds him for not getting a haircut before the holidays. Then she’s off, continuing on her way through the mass of people, dictating orders to various members of the staff through their earpieces as she finds things amiss.

When Robin looks for Regina again, she’s no longer standing by the ice sculpture of the Gardener Family Crest, and he has a flash of nerves wash through him before he relocates her by the bar. That reedy brown-nosing Yankee twat is still hovering over her, but aside from her obvious state of annoyance, she seems fine. It’s only when Robin’s eyes meet hers from across the room that he nearly chokes on his own spit.

Because now she’s staring daggers at _him._

Oh hell.

He tips his head, swallows thickly and wonders what he’s done to earn such a reproachful look. All he’s doing is standing off to the side with John, and up until about five minutes ago, he’s been busy working, has hardly spoken to any of the guests tonight, and even at that, he’s said nothing beyond the standard pleasantries that have become ingrained so well in him over the years. Suddenly his radio crackles and Marvin Fitzwalter is barking in his ear about needing tables moved, so with a shake of his head and one last confused glance in Regina’s direction, he heads off to tend to that before the old man gets his knickers in a twist.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Robin gets the tables shuffled around to the satisfaction of his employer. Apparently the band needed more room for their brass section, which consists of four vastly overweight, middle-aged bald men, all who Robin saw stuffing their faces with sweets in the kitchen earlier tonight. He ends up making room for the rotund instrumentalists by combining the party favors of two eight-foot tables together, then removing the now empty table from the ballroom. There’s a large storage closet down the back hallway of the ballroom where all this furniture is kept, so Robin lugs the heavy table there on his own - there’s no need to bother John for this, he can handle one table and he knows where he’s going anyway.

He rounds the corner to the back hallway just in time to see Daniel and Regina arguing heatedly in the middle of the corridor. It’s quiet - only one door from the main ballroom leads to this section of the house and most guests aren’t aware of it, so they’re the only ones back here - and Robin can clearly hear what they’re talking about.

“You’ve been all over him since the second he showed up, you were gone _all night_ and you won’t tell me where you were, and now you won’t so much as kiss me - _what am I supposed to think?!”_ Daniel snaps.

“Clearly, smothering me to death is the next reasonable option,” she growls, “That’s working great, I’m obviously enjoying the way you’ve _hounded_ me to death all day.”

Robin’s not trying to eavesdrop, and he doesn’t want to interrupt, but he’s got a job to do and this table is heavy. Regina and Daniel happen to be standing right in front of the storage closet, and he’s got to get in there one way or another, so he trudges toward them, hoping Regina’s temper won’t have her snapping at him for the interruption. He still doesn’t know what he did to catch her ire earlier tonight.

“Well if I let you out of my sight, you might disappear again,” Daniel huffs, “We are supposed to be here _together.”_

“We _are not_ together,” Regina barks.

“Well we’re _never_ going to be if you keep this shit up,” Daniel grabs a hold of her shoulders, and Robin nearly drops the table.

How _dare_ that bastard put his hands on her? Fury flares in Robin, his pace quickens. _He. Will. End. Him._

“Don’t you want that?” Daniel continues, “Don’t you want to _at least try,_ honey?” Daniel pleads. “I thought you did, I thought that’s why you asked me to come on this trip with you. If you’ll just tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it, you know. You don’t have to make things so fucking complicated all the time.”

Regina starts to shake her head, and suddenly it whips in Robin’s direction. Her eyes narrow at him, she shoves Daniel’s hands off of her, and she steps back from both of them.

Daniel follows her line of sight, and without any preamble, he plasters a fake smile on his face and asks, “Hey Robin, what were you up to last night?”

Robin returns Daniel’s crap smile with a smirk and replies, “Had a date.”

“Oh?” Daniel looks directly at Regina, then back at Robin. “Anyone I know?”

“Maybe,” Robin is close to them now, and he’s holding the heavy table on his right side, keeping a nice barrier between him and Daniel, just in case. “Little stunner I met down at the pub the other night.”

Daniel frowns, so Robin charges on. “Come to think of it, I dunno if you were still there when she showed up,” he shrugs, “You called it such an early night, and my girl likes to stay up _late_ , you know what I mean, mate? Could barely walk this morning.” He winks at Daniel and takes another two steps to the storage room door, which looks just like every other large, ornate wooden door in the house, and he proceeds to unlock it without another glance in the other man’s direction.

Daniel makes an annoyed, “Hmmph,” sound and mutters, “Yeah I guess I don’t remember her.”

Robin starts to drag the big table inside the room but pops his head back out and says, “Oh, if you’d seen _her_ , believe me, you’d _definitely_ remember. I can’t get her out of my head.”

He ducks back into the storage room and gets the table situated while Daniel and Regina speak in irritated, hushed tones in the hallway. Robin lingers inside for a moment, not wanting to get in the middle of _that_ , and when it grows quiet, he peeks out just in time to see Daniel pulling open the door to the ballroom and heading back inside. Regina is following behind him, her hands brushing down the front of her dress, smoothing out what he’s sure are only imaginary wrinkles, and Robin _finally_ sees his opportunity.

In a flash, Robin darts across the hall, grabs her hand and tows her into the storage closet with him. He yanks the door shut right on their heels, twists the lock and flips off the light, then disconnects his earpiece, all within the span of about three seconds. He has her back to the door, one arm around her waist, and with his other hand he presses his finger to her lips and whispers, “Quiet now, he’s bound to try here first.”

It’s pitch black, so he can’t see anything, but he can hear her quick, nervous breaths, can feel the heat of her body, can smell the exotic scent of her perfume with those familiar undertones of vanilla that he’s come to know so well. Robin crowds her space, takes a half a step closer to press his hips to hers and tightens his arm around her, leans in and bumps the tip of her nose with his, intending on getting himself a sweet kiss or two while they’re waiting here in the dark. But then her lips move against his finger and she whispers, “Don’t you dare.”

His stomach plummets to the floor and he freezes, starts to ask, “What’s wro–” but is forced to stop when he hears the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

He can feel the tension invade her - her back straightens, her thick lips tighten where the rough pad of his finger is still pressed, and she all but stops breathing as the footsteps traipse back and forth right outside the door. Robin moves his face to the side and uses his nose to nudge her softly curled hair out of the way so that he can get his lips right against her ear. He’s unable to let this friction between them linger - even in the face of getting caught, he can’t stand to go another second knowing that she is upset with him and he’s done nothing about it.

“I’ve hurt you,” he whispers to her, knowing he’s right even though he doesn’t know _how_ he’s done it - that’s really not the important part anyway. What matters is that he _has_ done it, he’s hurt her somehow, which he is _certain_ she’ll tell him when she’s ready, so he smooths his palm along her lumbar, raises his other hand to cup her cheek and strokes his fingers along her neck, trying to comfort her, and murmurs sincerely, “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t reply, but her head nods a little, and he drops his face to her shoulder, bare from the sleeveless cut of her dress, where he presses a gentle, chaste kiss.

Regina’s small hands move to hold his waist, and he takes this as a good sign, so he presses another sweet kiss to the muscular curve beneath his lips before he starts to move. With extreme care, Robin draws the tip of his nose along the top of her shoulder, traces it slow, slow, _slowly_ up the elegant line of her neck until he reaches her ear, where once more, he tenderly brushes her hair aside and repeats in an honest whisper, “I’m so sorry, my darling. _I’m so sorry_.”

The footsteps outside haven’t receded as Robin expected them to. If anything, they’ve grown more annoying, a bit louder as if someone is pacing in front of the door. He wishes whoever it is (he knows it’s Daniel, can practically feel the tosser’s insecurity steeping through the thick, polished mahogany) would bugger-the-fuck-off so he could speak properly to Regina. He’ll spend the whole night locked up in here with her if he has to, will take however long is needed to correct his error this evening. There is nothing he won’t do to make things right. _Nothing._

“Be quiet,” she whispers, but there isn’t as much venom in it as he expected, so what he’s doing must be working, she must be forgiving him at least a little. Either that, or her anger has been disguised by the way she’s had to lower her voice, but he doubts it.

“You deserve so much better,” he whispers to her in spite of her warning, moves his hand from her waist to take one of hers in his, then pulls it up between them. “I’m rubbish, and everyone knows it,” he peppers her knuckles with kisses, “But I’d rather die than hurt you. I’m so, _so sorry_ , I –”

She turns her face to his so fast their noses collide a little painfully, but he doesn’t shy away. “Stop it,” she whispers against his lips. “Don’t say that.”

“But I _am_ sorry,” he presses his forehead to hers, holds tightly to her hand and buries his fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible, less than a whisper. Those fucking footsteps are _still_ there. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“Not that,” she says quickly, her lips brushing his, making him nearly shake with the restraint it takes to not kiss her. “Don’t disparage yourself. It’s not true and that’s not what this is about, this is about…” she trails off and huffs, her breath smells like apples and vodka and he wonders why she’s drinking apple martinis tonight instead of whiskey.

“What?” he presses, “Tell me, and I’ll never do it again.”

Her fingers curl tightly in his, her other hand slides up to grasp the lapel of his jacket, and she growls a bit nastily, “I _saw you_ with Marian.”

Robin draws a complete blank.

He feels quite thick about it, feels like a git for not knowing what she’s on about, but he honestly has absolutely no idea.

“With Marian?” he repeats stupidly.

“ _She was all over you_ ,” Regina whisper-snaps, and Robin cringes at both the volume and sheer aggravation that bleeds through her words. “ _Apparently_ that marker I used washed right off.”

“There is _nothing_ but friendship between Marian and I,” he insists quietly, his fingers playing in her thick hair. It’s adorable, the way she gets so jealous over something she needn’t worry about, especially considering the circumstances, and he’s glad it’s dark so she can’t see his smug smirk.

Robin takes a chance and nuzzles his nose against hers, trying to calm Regina’s ire, to convince her that what she saw with Marian was nothing more than what it appeared to be - one friend fussing over the other like an over-attentive mother hen.

“I’ve never had any interest in Marian that way,” he whispers, “And for the record,” he pauses to press his lips to her cheek, which she allows, _thank-god-thank-god-thank-god,_ “I’m still sporting the first tattoo you gave me back in '97, so don’t think for a second that last night’s are going to fade any time soon.”

There is a charged pause between them, and Robin fights the urge to fidget. He feels like he’s on pins and needles as he awaits her judgement of his apology, of his statements, of his declaration of his devotion to her. He keeps his face tucked in close to hers, their noses touching, breaths mixing; one of his hands is still holding tightly to hers and the other is woven into her thick hair. He’s totally wrapped up in her, _not_ just physically, but in every other way too, and he’s not ashamed to admit that. He’ll march across the hall and announce it to the entire ballroom full of people right now if she asks it of him.

“Really?” she asks, her voice dripping with disbelief and what he thinks sounds like hope. “You’re not just… just saying that?”

He tightens his grip on her, his heart _aching_ with how much he cares about her, how much he longs to be with her, to be her _person,_ the one she believes in, counts on, trusts more than anyone else in the world. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

Regina turns her face then, presses her lips to his, and Robin is once again propelled into the heavenly bliss that is her kiss.

Her fingers slip from his, and suddenly he feels her tugging at his bowtie. It loosens around his neck a second later, then he feels her deftly twisting open the top button of his shirt, and _fuck_ \- the next button, and the next. Before he thinks to shut up and just go with it, he rasps, “What’re you doing, babe?”

“I know I can’t _see_ the marker,” she whispers, his shirt is half unbuttoned now, his jacket still unbuttoned from when he hauled the table. “But I just, I want to touch it anyway.”

Robin has a flash of fantasy, wishes his “tattoos” were real, that his skin was permanently marked with ink that had been injected in her chosen design. When she gets his dress shirt mostly unbuttoned, Regina’s hands dive inside without hesitation, and when her hands are met with the barrier of his undershirt, her French-tipped nails dig into his chest, a cute little noise of protest groaning out as she discovers she won’t be able to reach his skin without taking off way more of his clothes than she was expecting.

“Dammit,” she hisses, dropping her head against his chest.

Robin hugs her to him for a moment, trails his hands up and down her bare arms and shoulders, trying to comfort her in the face of her defeat. But then her head comes back up, and she’s kissing him with fervor, _and oh_ , she is _anything_ but defeated. Her tongue slides smoothly into his mouth to play against his, flicking and teasing as he tips his head and opens further to allow her more room. She’s easily the most talented woman he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing, and he’s ravenous for more, cannot stop the surge of heat and lust that pools in his groin just from sucking on her lusciously thick bottom lip.

Her hands are at his lapels then, and she’s gripping them tightly, stepping into him and turning so that their positions are exchanged, and he now has his back to the door. It creates a bit of a _thud_ as he connects with it, and he cringes, alarmed that whoever is on the opposite side, (if they’re still there - he hasn’t been paying enough attention to know for sure), might’ve heard it. Apparently Regina doesn’t share his concern though, because she doesn’t pause at all, she continues to bless him with hot kisses, moving from his lips to his chin, straight down the column of his throat, pausing here and there to use her teeth to pull at his sensitive skin, creating a soft rasping sound with each drag of her incisors over his stubble, before she starts sucking kisses from his jawline to his ear. He’s going to have little red welts all over his neck when she’s through with him, and all he can think is, _Good god, he’s a lucky man._

She pauses to, _Christ,_ suck lightly on his earlobe, her hands skating down his chest to curl over the buckle of his thin leather belt, and Robin’s breath stutters out. He wraps his hands tightly around her hips, just the proximity of her fingers to his bits has him hardening, has his already elevated pulse leaping off the charts, and he tries to think of what _he_ should be doing. He struggles to make a decision - everything his brain comes up with is far too indecent for what he’s sure she’ll allow. He wants to unzip her dress, suck on her tits and redden her tight little nipples, ruck up her skirt and go down on his knees for her, lick her sweet cunt, finger her until she gushes, turn her around and fuck her right up against this door - but they can’t do any of that, he knows she won’t let him, he _knows_ that.

But then her fingers are tugging at his belt, slipping the shiny leather through the brass, and _oh Christ, oh fuck, oh god in heaven_ , she’s tugging down his fly and going down on her knees. He’s frozen solid, has just plummeted into the very first fantasy his seventeen-year-old self ever had about her, and he’s either about to die from a heart attack or wake up from this dream any second now.

He means to tell her she doesn’t have to do this, that he doesn’t want her to dirty her dress, that she’s much too good to be going down on her knees for him in the first place; but at the same time he opens his mouth, she shimmies his pants down, and what he ends up hissing is, “ _Ohhh fuuuck_.”

He can’t see her, but he can feel her hands on his hips, rubbing affectionately, her fingertips tracing the vee cut of his obliques, slowly working their way inward, can feel her warm, quick breaths coasting over his rigid length. “I’m going to suck your cock,” she whispers, and he whimpers pathetically in response, feels her nails dig into the meat of his upper thighs, “But you have to stay quiet,” she warns quietly. “Can you do that for me? Can you be quiet and come in my mouth?”

His cock throbs at just her words, _Christ she’s so fucking hot,_ and Robin curls his hands into fists, swallows thickly and rasps, “Yeah babe, any--,” he has to clear his throat, “Anything you want.”

One of her delicate hands wraps around the length of him, and he exhales an unsteady breath, brings his hands up to press against his forehead and tries to calm his breathing, which is creeping closer to hyperventilating with each second. She’s doing this, _blimey_ , Regina Mills is doing this, _she’s-on-her-knees-with-his-dick-in-her-hand-and-she’s-going-to-suck-it-any-second-now-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god._

The first slick swipe of her tongue across the head of him makes his entire body jerk, his head knocks back against the door, and Regina immediately stops.

“Easy,” she whispers, strokes her hand slowly up and down the rigid length of him a few times – _she feels so good, not like his touch at all, she’s so soft, so warm -_ and then she adds under her breath, “It’s just me.”

Those three words break all the nervous tension in him. They resonate right through his bones, fracture his fantasy and shove him firmly back into reality. He’ll never understand how she can think of herself this way. How she can look in the mirror and think she’s _just_ anything. Oh, how he _hates_ Henry Mills for having the audacity to die and leave his only daughter to deal with Cora all on her own, the bloody-fucking-coward.

Regina brings her mouth to him again, her hot tongue runs across the wide head of him, and this time he’s more prepared. He tries to stay calm, does his very best to stay still, but he jitters under her ministrations a bit anyway because she’s _her,_ and she’s doing a smashing job of getting him all worked up. It’s like she already knows what he likes, or perhaps he’s just like every other bloke she’s done this with, (he’s absolutely not about to think about that), but he’s already fighting a shudder, resisting the urge to thrust as his need for release grows. She’s brilliant and so attentive, uses both of her smooth hands - one pumping the base of his shaft, the other massaging his balls - and every asset of her eager mouth – her thick lips, skilled tongue, and even careful use of her teeth – to get him panting and brainless in a few short minutes.

He wishes he could see her, curses Daniel or whoever the fuck it is that’s lingering in the corridor, for taking away his sight in this moment. He’d give anything to see her, to watch the way her thick red lips wrap around him, the way her cheeks hollow when she sucks hard, the way her big brown eyes blink up at him when he whispers her name, _fuuuck_.

But _oh,_ his lack of vision does force him to pay attention to other things. Like the slick, wet little slurping sounds as his cock slides _in and out, in and out, in and out_ of her greedy mouth; the distinct, sucking _smacks_ generated when the suction breaks from between her plump lips, _Christ;_ and the deep breaths she takes before she slides him - _fuck fuck fuck -_ deep down her throat, followed by the harsh exhale she huffs out after her throat spasms around him and she finally pulls back. She makes these low toned, quiet hums when he loses control and his hips jut forward, shoving his cock insistently into her fist or further between her lips, but she doesn’t get cross - oh no, she _speeds the fuck up_ , works on him faster, with a tighter grip, twisting around the head of his cock, flicking her tongue around the ridges, massaging his sensitive balls, until he’s fighting second by second not to come, just so he can have a bit more time in heaven like this _._

He starts to get a bit lightheaded though, all of his blood having rushed to his rigid, throbbing cock, and he drops his hand to curl it over her shoulder, trying to steady himself. Her hair brushes his hand and he coasts his fingers over to run them along the edge of her graceful neck, wishing he could touch more of her, thinking of her gorgeous, naked body, wishing he could lay with her right now, that he could come with his body pressed up against hers. But then Regina distracts him, brings one hand up to cover his and guides it into the hair at the nape of her neck - _fucking hell -_ granting him _permission_ to hold her head while she sucks him off, and _Christ,_ he’s never going to last, not two more seconds with his hand in her thick, silky hair and his cock in her mouth.

That’s quite alright with him though - he knew he wasn’t going to last long and is completely shameless about it. Regina is _his girl_ , the one he’s unrepentantly pined over for years on end, and he’ll never get over this. He warns her quietly, “ _So close,_ ” and she speeds up, her talented tongue flicking over him before her lips tighten and she sucks hard, slides up and down his length in rapid strokes as her hand pumps the base of him in tandem. He’s there, he’s about to come - _fuck, she feels so good -_ tightens his fingers in her hair and thrusts into her mouth faster, faster, _faster_ and –

The handle of the door rattles loudly and they both startle - Regina jerks her mouth away from him - _fuck, he’s so close, one more stroke, maybe two_ \- and then Daniel’s voice filters through the door.

“Regina? You in there?”

They freeze, and Robin tries desperately to calm himself, to at least get his breathing knocked down. He’s heaving for air like he’s run a marathon, he doesn’t know if Daniel can hear him or not, Regina’s hand is still wrapped around him, and _fuck,_ if she so much as twists it, he’s not sure if he can hold back or not.

“Regina?” Daniel calls again, a little desperately. Then - _good-bloody-god-oh-fuck -_ Regina’s lips are sucking hot, wet, open mouth kisses directly on the dripping head of his cock, _he’s going to explode, he can’t take it, fuck she’s so naughty -_ and oh no, then she’s sliding her hot mouth down his cock again, and her tongue is swirling around him - _oh no, oh, oh nooo._

“Are you in there, honey?” Daniel continues, and Regina starts tugging fast on Robin’s thick cock with her small hand, starts sliding her lips down the length of him. _Oh god,_ he’s gonna come, he can’t stop it, there’s no way –

“Come on, quit playing around, Regina,” the door handle jiggles again and Robin gasps for air, his body full of sizzling tension. Regina is relentless, merciless, is sucking him off with purpose, is apparently determined to make him come with Daniel right outside, and _Christ,_ he wants to now, wants her to blow him with her high society fuckboy within arm’s reach. He bites hard on his lip and shoves his cock deeper into her mouth, starts to get that intense, buzzing feeling that begins all the way down from the insides of his knees. The electric sensation travels up his thighs to his groin, intensity increasing, up, up, _up_ \- oh god, he’s gonna come so hard - his cock is so rigid, and - fuck, _fuck -_ he uses his hand in her hair to bob her mouth fast on him and - _Christ -_ he’s a goner. He explodes in her mouth - comes, and comes while she swallows around him - _blimey she’s the perfect girl_ \- stroking and sucking on him until he’s utterly spent and barely keeping his shaking legs beneath him.

She stays on her knees for a few seconds when he’s done, her hands bracing on his hip bones as if she knows he might topple over, and he’s grateful for it. She’s always taking care of him, always seems to know what to do when he’s not quite up to par, and he loves her for it.

He loves her for _a lot_ of reasons, actually.

There is the distinct sound of footsteps _finally_ heading off down the hallway - it’s about bloody time - and Robin helps Regina to her feet before he rights his pants. He tugs them up, gets his fly done but doesn’t bother with his belt before he fumbles for her in the dark, grabs her around the waist, and hauls her to him for a kiss.

She makes a cute little, _mm!,_ against his lips, but she melts into him, and he spends a minute snogging the hell out of her. He kisses her lips, her cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin - everywhere he can. He whispers his thanks to her, tells her how good she felt, how he’s going to do the same now, and he even starts to ruck up her dress when she pulls back a little and tells him to wait.

“Don’t you have to get back to work?”

_Oh yeah._

“Er, I suppose so,” he laughs weakly. He’d quite forgotten that he’s not just here on holiday. John’s going to kill him for his absence. Reluctantly, Robin lets go of her and does up his belt. “That’s uh, not exactly how I’d planned this,” he mumbles dejectedly, “But fair's, fair,” he rallies, “So what’re you doing tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “The way Daniel’s acting, I'm not sure if I’ll be able to slip away.”

His hopes fall, but he tries anyway. “What if I come to your room?” he scrambles for ideas, “I can come by anytime, even if it’s late. Or I can meet you somewhere else, if that’s better. Tell me what works for you and I’ll make it happen on my end.”

He finishes buttoning his shirt and does up his coat, but can’t find his bowtie, so with her permission, he turns on the light. It’s on the floor by the door, and he snatches it up, gives it a quick brush off and starts to put it on, but Regina steps in and takes over. Her hands are gentle but sure as she threads the silk around his neck and starts to tie it up properly, and he’d smirk at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, if her eyes didn’t look so sad.

“What if we left now?” he suggests. “I’ve got my pickup out back. We could just, we could go right from here. Slip out the back and no one would be the wiser.”

She smiles softly but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Then she pulls the ends of his tie tight - of course she got it straight the first try, she’s so posh - and places her hands flat on his chest, then looks up at him.

“You know we can’t,” she murmurs, “You’ll get fired, and my mother will kill me, not to mention Daniel. He’ll probably revolt, and Zelena, she’ll have a damned field day with all the drama.”

“Who cares about them?” he’s being brash but he doesn’t care. “To hell with them. Let’s just, let’s just go and be us.” He puts his hands on her hips and squeezes determinedly. “You’re all that matters, Regina. We're all we need. Forget everyone else.”

Her breath catches and she tips her head to the side, her eyes grow a bit red around the edges, then look wet, and she cups his face sweetly before she leans in and presses a slow, chaste kiss to his lips.

“You have no idea how badly I wish it was that simple.” She kisses him again, runs her fingers through his hair and curls them affectionately around his ear, trying to smile but looking positively broken. Then she kisses him once more, and without even bothering to take caution, she jerks open the door and steps out into the hallway. Regina presses one hand to her forehead, then she takes off across the hall with quick, confident strides and reenters the ballroom before Robin can think of something to get her to stay, and he’s left standing in the storage room like a right idiot.

* * *

Regina pushes into the ballroom and lets the heavy door swing shut behind her, hoping Robin won’t try to follow. She’s upset, not herself, feels like a doll who’s been played with too roughly, so the strings connecting her limbs have all been stretched too far, and now they’ve gone loose. She just needs a moment to pull them all tight again, a few seconds to tug herself back together, to re-tie all her knots before the strain of self-doubt, jealousy, fear, and regret gets to be too much, and she snaps and falls apart completely.

Daniel is driving her completely insane. She’s never had this kind of trouble with him before. Certainly he has always been opinionated, and he has always expressed his interest in her, in wanting to take their relationship further, but he’s never dogged her like this, has never been so stubbornly obstinate in his advances. He’s being downright forceful now, bordering on disrespectful, demanding to know where she was last night. He’s acting like a jealous boyfriend, following her around like a guard dog who’s warding off all interactions she might have with other possible threats. Beyond annoying, it’s disappointing and even a little surprising, because it’s not like they’re fast friends – she’s known him for years. She knows how he is and that he can be pushy, but she’s never seen him act like _this._ She’s trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, has been considering that he might be feeling insecure about the very real possibility of her moving to England and leaving him behind - even suspects that perhaps his excessive behavior can be attributed, at least in part, to the terrible example being set by her arrogant, self-serving half-sister’s family, who he has been surrounded by for the past week. God knows the Gardeners aren’t known for their kind and generous reputation.

Even so, she feels like Daniel’s behavior is mostly unwarranted. Yes, she’s been sleeping with him, and yes, she has entertained the idea of something more with him, had even discussed it and agreed to think about it. But she has also been up front with Daniel about her past with Robin, and while she hasn’t given him the specifics on just _how_ romantically involved they once were, she hasn’t concealed it, either. Daniel knows that she truly cared about Robin when they were teenagers, that they were more than friends, and she hasn’t tried very hard to hide her feelings for Robin in front of Daniel since they have reunited.

Part of that is because she can’t – her feelings for Robin are much too intense, much too strong to be totally concealed, but a larger part of it is because she doesn’t _want_ to. She wasn’t sneaking around with Robin last night - at least, not on purpose - and not any more than they usually do. Had Daniel asked her about her whereabouts as her friend, she would have told him she had spent the night with Robin. It’s just that, when he started badgering her and immediately treating her as if she’d done something wrong when she _knew_ that she hadn’t, it angered her. She doesn’t answer to him, he is not her keeper, and as she reminded him for the hundredth time, they are _not_ together.

She’s disappointed in him, disappointed that he’s being so difficult, that he’s pressuring her right now, that he’s pushing _so hard_ for a relationship that she was, at best, apprehensive about before her mother invited him on this trip. With every irritating conversation they have, she’s becoming more and more certain that he is not the one for her.

But oh, then there’s Robin.

 _He_ makes her want things she hasn’t ever considered to be within her reach. He makes her feel things, _dangerous_ things, things that she knows have the ability to ruin every plan she has so carefully, strategically made in favor of making brand _new_ plans, or perhaps, not making _any_ plans at all.

Which is… well, terrifying.

She has never trusted another person quite like she does Robin. Her father was probably the closest she can compare, but that was a different kind of relationship. Regina’s faith in her father wasn’t something she was ever necessarily conscious of, but more like something she inherited through that special father-daughter bond. Regina’s trust in Robin is different because she granted it to him with extreme caution; he worked hard to earn it and he has reinforced it time and again through this deep, soulful connection they share. She believes in him, knows that when he gives his word he will do everything in his power to keep it, and she doesn’t doubt that he is good, and honest, and true. Robin understands her like no one else does, can read her every expression, gives her what she needs before she is even aware that she is lacking, and she wants - _god does she ever want -_ to be that for him too.

She’s hurting though, because she’s _not_ that for him, and the more time they have spent together through the years, the more evident that has become. He has never really believed her when she tells him how she feels about him. He balks at the idea that she might legitimately be interested, that she would even consider being with him. Hell, he didn’t even think she still had the key to the cigar lounge, and she’s kept that in her wallet every single day since the day he gave it to her. Regina _always_ has that key with her, _just in case_ she needs it, even though up until this week she has been at least three thousand miles away from ever actually being able to use it.

It’s becoming clear to her that all this time, she should have been doing more to earn his trust too. She knows that when she was seventeen, there wasn’t much she could do. Her mother was a monster who had just lost her husband and was intent on punishing Regina for every single sin that had ever been committed against her, so there wasn’t anything she could do that year but survive. At eighteen she was adapting, had finally matched her mother’s anger and had learned to defend herself, but she had very little opportunity to see Robin and when she had, well, they had had that terrible misunderstanding about the scar that will always imperfect her upper lip. But from nineteen on, oh, Regina sees now that she should have done more, she should have done _so much_ more.

Robin was struggling, was fighting for his life and she knew that, at least in part. She knew that he was in danger with Will, knew that he was getting caught up in things that he shouldn’t, but she also knew that he was too good for the horrors that surrounded him. At the time of his arrest she had already failed him, but in the aftermath, she had tried to help, even thought that she had done her best. She had even pushed her mother into helping by playing up her sprained wrist to the doctor and overdramatizing the confrontation with the police to everyone who would listen in an attempt to justify Robin’s actions. She had threatened that asshole Keith to within an inch of his life, until he agreed to vouch for them at the bar, then she had tracked down John and Tuck and got them to round up as many people as possible to be witnesses to Robin’s innocence. She was going to do more, but she had run out of time and had had to fly back home.

She was selfish, _so selfish_. She slunk off to New York like a coward and continued on with her life - just went back to school and her violin and hoped to god that everything worked out for Robin. She sees now that she should have stayed in England - she should have fought tooth and nail for him - she has no excuse for not reciprocating the friendship that he has always given to her. She has never pulled him out of the trajectory of an unearned slap, she has never brawled with the authorities in his honor. She hasn’t helped him _at all_ when he has needed her - no - on the contrary, all she’s ever done is _abandon_ him.

She’s _selfish_ , and all she is capable of is taking from him, of forcing her problems on him without any regard for what _he’s_ going through, or what _he_ wants. On top of that, she’s an even more awful, more terrible person, because she can’t seem to help but be outrageously jealous of the people in Robin’s life who _have_ supported him. Well, not _people_ , just one person – _Marian_ – who Regina should probably be thankful for.

 _Marian_ , with her roaming hands that give him countless considerate, reassuring, adoring touches. _Marian_ , with her beautiful empathetic smile always at the ready for him, not to mention her conveniently available spare bedroom. _Marian_ , with her marvelously uncomplicated Hallmark Channel family and their booming business, which is chockfull of job opportunities, and connections, and god knows what else, just waiting to help set Robin’s life on a new course.

The woman is disgustingly wonderful. She is clearly Robin’s _perfect match._

Regina _hates_ her.

And so what’s worse is, she’s going to continue to be selfish, because she already knows that for as long as he keeps welcoming her back, she can’t quit him. She doesn’t know why he allows her to be so close with him - it’s quite possible it’s purely sexual, she’s too afraid to ask - but she feels so much better when she’s with him. She has all of these warm, lovely feelings inside that make her wish, and want, and hope, and dream, and she knows it’s all because of how he builds her up, makes her believe in herself, inspires her to be better.

She loves him.

She doesn’t know how to show Robin how she feels about him though. She keeps making an idiot of herself, keeps doing stupid, possessive things that are bound to send him running from her, or at the very least, must be setting off alarm bells in his head. She doesn’t know how to love very well in the first place and she doesn’t know how to express these feelings in a way that seems appropriate.

It occurs to her that maybe she _shouldn’t_ express how she feels for him, maybe it will just make things worse. Maybe this is wrong, and she should leave him alone. His life is finally on track and perhaps her presence is only throwing him off course, causing him unnecessary complications, distracting him from what is important. What if she hurts him? What if she doesn’t get the job and she has to go back to America?

But what if she _does_ get the job, and what if she _stays_?

What if she _ruins_ him?

“There you are!”

“We have been looking for you for fifteen minutes, young lady.”

Regina’s heart plummets, and she closes her eyes in an attempt to stay calm. Daniel _and_ her mother are marching toward her, and she can only guess they’ve come to give her the third degree over her short disappearance.

“I –” she starts, but is promptly cut off by her mother.

“I don’t know what gets into you when we visit Gardener Manor, Regina,” Cora snaps heatedly. “It’s as if you abandon every ounce of your decorum at the gate in New York, as if you can’t wait to drag our family name through the mud the second you arrive here.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she protests.

Daniel scoffs. “Then tell me where you were last night. _All of last night._ ” He looks to Cora, who happens to be wearing a matching expression of suspicion and insult.

Regina is confused for a second, then it hits her – Daniel has _tattled_ on her. When he couldn’t find her, he must have gone and told her mother about their argument, and now the two of them are ganging up on her. _God dammit_.

“As I told you before, where I was is none of your business.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why I expected better of you,” she scowls. “I have put up with your insolence for far too long, and Daniel has been more than patient with you. You know I have ways of finding these things out anyway – so save us all the trouble and come clean now, so poor Daniel can have some much-deserved peace of mind.”

Regina grinds her teeth and looks to Daniel, who’s already smirking like he’s victorious. Fucking jerk.

“Daniel doesn’t need any peace of mind,” Regina bites off, glaring hotly at him, “Because we’re _not together,_ and his mind doesn’t have anything to be worried about in the first place.”

“Oh grow up,” Cora hisses, “Everyone knows you two are an item, Regina, there’s no use denying it.”

Indignation burns through Regina, and she starts to contest it, but her mother continues before she gets the words out.

“You know, we are all here on this trip to support _you._ We’re all here, giving up our precious time to support your silly little career in music, because this is what you claim to want to do with your life. The least you can do is be considerate of our feelings,” Cora brushes her hands down the front of her dress, then straightens up, glances around and asks in an angry whisper, “How do you think it makes a mother feel to learn her daughter has been treating such a nice young man like Daniel so poorly? That she’s been disappearing in the evenings and refusing to say where she’s been? That she’s been seen affiliating with _criminals_ , for heaven’s sake!”

Regina turns to Daniel. “Are you kidding me?” she snaps, “What did you do, have a heart to heart with my mother every day this week?”

“Well I needed _someone_ to talk to,” he whines, “The second Robin Locksley showed up you ditched me.”

Her eyes widen in betrayal. How could he have gone to her mother and spilled his guts? He _knows_ how manipulative Cora is, because Regina has told him, has warned him over and over about her. How could he do this to her? He’s supposed to be her friend.

“Dammit, Daniel,” she growls, “How could you –"

“Oh calm down,” Cora butts in, “It’s not like this is the first time Daniel has had to come to me when you’ve been unreasonable.”

And everything just sort of… stops.

“Excuse me?” Regina gasps.

Daniel suddenly looks nervous, but Cora, oh, she looks beyond pleased at Regina’s shock - she even looks _triumphant_.

Cora smirks. “My dear, since you were a teenager you have proven time and again that you cannot be trusted to make appropriate decisions when it comes to relationships,” her mother says with superiority. “You should consider yourself fortunate to have found such a good man in Daniel. He understands your weaknesses, and, with a little guidance early on, he learned how to steer you in the right direction, didn’t you, dear?” Cora looks proudly to Daniel and he straightens up a little, then gives her a small smile and a sharp nod.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says obediently, then turns to Regina. “Honey, we’re trying to look out for your best interests. It’s just that you’re so headstrong, and you don’t listen to reason, so sometimes your mother and I have to go around you in order to help you, because you keep getting in your own way,” he shrugs as if this is completely acceptable and adds, “You know we only want what’s best for you.”

She feels like the walls are closing in on her, like they’re hurtling toward her and she’s about to be crushed to death. Panic is welling up inside of her like she hasn’t felt in years – her heart is racing, hands numb, breaths shallow - and she’s fighting like hell not to flee. She doesn’t want to be a coward, she wants to, _needs to_ stand up to her mother, and to Daniel, the fucking traitor, the spy her mother has recruited to join her ranks, or this will never stop. They’ll repress her, they’ll kill her spirit, they’ll bend her and break her until she becomes a zombie, stuck in a life she doesn’t want to live.

“And what about what _I_ want?” Regina finally snarls out from behind clenched teeth, her brow furrowed tightly, dark eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. She wishes she had something to hold onto, she suddenly feels lightheaded, like she might pass out. Daniel has betrayed her, he’s been on her mother’s side for some undetermined length of time, everything she knows about him is probably a lie. “What about _my_ opinions? _My_ thoughts? What about what makes _me_ happy? You both think it’s okay to just take away my choices?”

“Stop being such a dramatic brat,” Cora snaps, losing her temper. “No one is taking away your choices, but you insist on acting like a child, on consistently making the _wrong_ ones. So Daniel and I have simply been doing what we can to steer you back in the right direction.” Cora takes a deep breath and rubs Daniel’s shoulder like a proud parent. “Really, dear, you should be thanking us. You’d be _nothing_ without _me,_ and Daniel, well, you should be grateful he holds any interest in you at all, that he can still see your potential after the way you’ve acted. You should thank your lucky stars to have found such a respectable, dependable young man to support you.”

“To support me?!” Regina snaps, her voice rising. “You think _this_ is supporting me?”

“Regina, calm down,” Daniel says firmly, reaching for her arm in what he apparently thinks is a comforting touch.

She jerks away, growls, “Don’t _fucking_ touch me,” to which Cora _tsk’s_ loudly in disapproval and glances around to see if they have drawn the attention of any other guests. Her mother’s actions fuel Regina’s resentment - as usual, Cora cares more about appearances than her own daughter.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Daniel tells her, “I know you’ve been drinking tonight, and you’re obviously tired. Why don’t we go upstairs and –”

Is he _serious?!_

Regina straightens her back, balls her hands into tight fists, and with as much forceful finality as she can muster, she snaps out a clipped and sharp, “You and I are done.”

He pauses, tips his head in confusion as if she’s just spoken another language, but she continues without hesitation.

“For the record, we were _never_ together, and now, we _never_ will be.”

Daniel’s face turns bright red and he opens his mouth to protest, but she charges on, turns to her mother and rushes out, “There’s a difference between manipulation and support, Mother. You’ve been manipulating me my entire life, blaming me for your shortcomings and punishing me for your mistakes. It ends now. I’m done. With _both_ of you.”

Then she turns on her heel, stomps across the ballroom, and shoves her way through the main doors.

She only gets about thirty feet down the corridor when she hears Daniel call her name, though, and she just _can’t_ \- she’s done - she’s not dealing with him any more tonight. Without sparing him a look, she breaks into a dead run, not caring that she’s in heels and will probably break her ankle. She’d rather spend all night in the emergency room than waste two more seconds with that dishonest, duplicitous, back-stabbing Judas.

At the end of the hall, she skids around a corner at full speed and nearly loses her footing, managing to ricochet off the wall to regain her balance at the last second before she’s driving her feet hard into the marble again and _clack-clack-clacking_ down the long corridor. She knows she can’t out run him, his legs are longer than hers, but she can tell by the sound that he hasn’t rounded the corner yet, so she sprints as far as she thinks she can get away with before she dives through the nearest door and finds herself smack dab in the middle of the west kitchen.

It’s messy – there is a plethora of food and dishes still scattered all around that the caterers haven’t gotten to yet. A few staff are within, some are washing dishes on one side of the room, another is bagging trash, someone has just ducked into the pantry who she didn’t quite see, and, _oh god_ , sitting at the island in the center of the room is Robin. Everyone startles and turns in her direction as she hurtles inside and pulls up short. She doesn’t know what the hell she’s supposed to say to all these people, and she doesn’t know how long she has before Daniel finds her, but she didn’t expect to have to explain herself. She thought she’d wind up in a bedroom or a closet or something and could just lock the door – and now, _shit_ , she feels like a complete fool.

“This ought to get the stains out, sweetie,” a woman calls from the pantry. She comes traipsing out with a bottle of soda water in one hand and a rag saturated with it in the other, goes directly to Robin and starts scrubbing at his collar for several seconds before she notices everyone has gone rather still, and with a bewildered, yet very pretty smile, she looks to Robin and asks, “What’s up?”

Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck._ It just figures that she’d run into Marian. Marian with her fucking hands _all over_ Robin – _again -_ and _Jesus,_ she can’t be here, she can’t deal with this right now either. She just can’t. She _cannot._

“Sorry,” Regina mumbles, catching Marian’s attention as she starts backing toward the door. “I’ll um, I’ll just…”

“What’s wrong?” Robin locks eyes with her and starts to stand, but Regina shakes her head back and forth, wanting him to stay away, even as her eyes fill with stupid, hot, needy tears.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she rasps, her voice thick, throat tight.

“You’re not,” Robin glances at Marian, then back at Regina.

“Robin’s gone and got lipstick all over his collar,” Marian raises an eyebrow and looks her over. “So I was just helping him with the stains before they set in and ruin his _very_ expensive dress shirt.”

Guilt racks through her stomach, and she feels queasy, feels stupid, feels terrible. She’s so inconsiderate, god, she’s _so_ fucking selfish.

“It might shock you to know that some people can only afford one of these shirts,” Marian continues, a teasing smile on her lips, “So it was important to get at this straight away, especially since he has to wear it to work.”

Regina bites her lip and looks away. God, she hates herself.

“Marian,” Robin scolds quietly, “Quit it. I’ve told you before, Regina’s not like that.”

“Mmhmm,” Marian hums.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Robin repeats, just as she hears Daniel call her name down the hallway, his voice close enough for all of them to hear him, right through the kitchen door.

All eyes turn to her for an explanation, and she caves. She’s too desperate for relief, for an escape. She’s shaking under the strain of the stress that’s driving her to tears right now, and she can no longer play this off.

“He’s looking for me,” she rushes out. “I just told him off and I don’t want to talk to him anymore, but he won’t leave me alone.”

She feels pathetic. Idiotic. She shouldn’t have to hide but she just, she’s so tired of this and she knows deep down that she can’t withstand any more tonight. She’ll break. She’s _already_ breaking. _God._ She’s so _weak._

Robin starts to stand, that protective anger flashing across his features, his body squaring and tightening up right before her eyes, clearly preparing for a fight. But then, for the first time ever, something close to compassion flickers in Marian’s eyes. She stares hard at Regina for a moment, then in a flash she’s grabbing her by the hand and dragging her into the pantry.

“We’ll get rid of him,” she tells her quietly, “and if you want Robin to stay out of trouble, you’ll keep quiet and stay in here until I tell you it’s safe to come out. Got it?”

Mutely, Regina nods, and Marian promptly shuts the door.

It doesn’t take them long to get rid of Daniel. She hears the brief conversation through the door, her heart hammering wildly the entire time, her imagination playing out insane scenarios where Daniel searches every nook and cranny of the kitchen until he finds her and drags her off, kicking and screaming and begging for someone to save her.

Rationally, she knows that will never happen. Daniel might be a manipulative shit, but she highly doubts that he’d try to make her do anything by force, and even if he tried, well, Robin is out there, and he’d stop that before it started. He’d protect her, just like he always has, because that’s who _he_ is, and Regina has no reason to ever doubt that.

When the pantry door opens a few minutes later, she’s grateful to come face to face to Robin. Instant relief floods through her, and she has to concentrate hard on curtailing every urge she has that keeps trying to launch her into his arms. She has just cowered in the pantry from Daniel like a damn coward, like the child her mother accused her of being. If she were to cling to Robin now, she’d only succeed in making more of a fool of herself in front of everyone in the kitchen, _especially_ in front of Marian, and she’s already been made enough of a laughing stock today to last her a lifetime.

“S’alright,” Robin says gently, holding out his hand to her as if she’s a frightened animal.

She sighs, immensely embarrassed, and takes his hand.

Robin pulls her toward him but doesn’t step out of the pantry yet, just tugs her in close and asks, “Wanna get out of here?”

She closes her eyes and drops her forehead against his collarbone, lets her free hand come up to curl in the starched fabric of his shirt and revel in the thick, warm muscle beneath her palm. “More than anything,” she whispers brokenly, “But you need to go back to work. I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Nonsense,” Robin argues, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I know you’re not going to find any rest in your room tonight.”

He’s right, and they both know it. Daniel is right across the hall, and her mother is highly likely to pound on her door until all hours of the morning.

“I’ll go to the lounge then,” she mumbles against his shirt. God, he smells so good, so familiar.

“John’s already agreed to cover for me for the rest of tonight, and I’ve got Marian’s go ahead as well,” he tells her, his hand sliding up her back to rub at her neck. “We don’t tear down for the party until tomorrow morning anyway, so tonight’s just a bit of cleanup, and John owes me for a few nights he needed to tag out early anyway.”

“Robin,” she warns, he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t shirk his responsibilities for her. This is exactly why they keep getting into trouble – he prioritizes her too much, she doesn’t belong at the top of his list and he keeps penciling her in. “You shouldn’t do that, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” he nods, kneading her neck - damn, that feels good. “I have no doubt you’ve got things under control,” she scoffs and he tips his head to the side to place a kiss to her forehead. “But to be honest,” he clears his throat nervously, and Regina looks up, confused. His cheeks are pink, and he looks a little embarrassed. “I miss you.”

She furrows her brow, not buying it. “You miss me?”

He smiles and ducks his head, brings their joined hands up so he can kiss the back of hers.

“Mmhmm.” His ears are turning bright red, and he shifts against her then shuffles his feet, an obvious sign of his endearing awkwardness.

“You know, it’s not _that_ late,” he tries, “Would you fancy going for a drive with me? Just for a bit? There’s something I’d, uh, if you want, there’s something I’d really love to show you.”

She agrees, because if he wants to share something with her, she’ll never deny him that. She feels honored by his openness, feels the tiniest bit redeemed for the sins of her past.

Robin grins like _he’s_ just won the lottery though, like he’s the lucky one here, which is ridiculous, then he grabs his tuxedo jacket and slides it on her. That’s the only preparation they take before they scurry down the hall and out the side entrance, completely unseen, where they throw open the door and are met with a fresh two inch covering of sparkling, powdery snow. Robin takes one look at Regina’s skirt and heels, and with a huge smile, he promptly sweeps one arm under her knees and wraps the other around her back while she shrieks and (weakly) protests his antics. He proceeds to carry her threshold style the _entire_ way to where he has parked his old, beat up truck, pausing here and there to twirl her around exceptionally fast, or to juggle her in his arms like he’s going to drop her, or to tip her _waaay_ back like he’s going to flip her right over, all for the sole purpose of making her gasp, and laugh, and delightfully scold him.

By the time they get to the truck she’s smiling brightly and winded from laughing so hard. When he dips down to set her on the passenger seat, she cannot resist using her grip around his neck to tug him down for a _very_ enthusiastic kiss. Her hands dive into his hair, their mouths meet open and hot, her tongue sliding into his mouth to flick against his as she presses her lips firmly to his and sucks, tugging on his bottom lip as she pulls slowly away, sinking in her teeth a little before immediately going back for more. The kiss that follows is softer, though, sweeter - one where she captures his top lip first with an easy push-pull, then switches to pay service to his bottom lip before she pulls back incredibly slowly, meets his eyes and whispers, _Thank You._ He nods, his bright blue eyes _so_ beautiful, _so_ sincere, and Regina can’t stop from kissing him once more before he jogs around the other side of the truck, starts the engine, and they’re off.

* * *

It’s beyond surreal to be out here with her, to have Regina snuggled against his chest as they sit lengthwise across the worn bench seat of his old truck, his tuxedo jacket buttoned up and tucked in around her for warmth, even though he’s still got the truck running to ward off the cold. Robin has his back to the door on the passenger’s side, one leg stretched out on the seat, the other resting on the floor, and between them, Regina is curled up on her side, her knees bent and her now shoeless feet slid under his leg for warmth. Her arms are around his waist, holding him securely to her, and her head is snug under his chin, the perfume of her shampoo filling his nose with the delicious scent of vanilla and apples. He has one arm wrapped around her back, and his other hand, which was caressing the fine features of her face, playing with her long bangs and brushing them out of her eyes over and over again, has now slipped a bit higher. He’s found a new favorite spot just behind her ear, hidden beneath the curtain of her hair, where he can cup the back of her head and swirl his fingers in the fine strands at the nape of her neck, carefully massaging the tense muscles and drawing these soft little sighs from her while they talk quietly.

If they were to pay it any sort of attention, they would admit that the view they’re parked in front of is nothing less than spectacular. Robin has driven them deep into the forest, way out of town down this old two-track trail once cut by the electric company that no one travels anymore. The trail dead ends at the edge of a tall bluff, which looks out over a frozen lake, bordered on all sides by the pines and tall oak trees this forest is so well known for. There are a few houses on the lake, their lights twinkling in the distance, and it reminds Robin of so many nights he spent here, wishing he owned one of them.

He found this place one day when he was about sixteen – he’d been stalling for time while walking home after getting kicked out of school one day, had taken an alternate route in the hopes that it would add a few minutes to his journey, and had stumbled upon the trail purely by chance. It took a bit of elbow grease to get it cleared out – there had been several fallen trees blocking the path, but once he got it all straightened up, it had been well worth it. The end of the trail is so far from the road that it’s completely hidden, and on more than one occasion, it had become a safe haven for him. As far as Robin is aware, to this day no one else knows that this beautiful, special place exists – well, no one except Regina.

“I used to come out here to think when I was a kid,” he tells her, his fingers weaving in her thick, silky hair. “When I’d have a row with my dad, or when my mum would tell me I was fucked up and she was going to start slipping Xanax in my food if I didn’t stop skiving off from my therapy sessions. I’d drive out here and just stare at the forest and the lake for hours, trying to figure out if I really was as messed up as they said.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, it just feels good, feels right, feels easy for the first time to talk about this.

“Did it help?” she asks, her warm cheek pressed against his chest, palms rubbing gently on his back.

“I think so,” he murmurs, tipping his head to press his lips to the top of her head. “There’s something about the forest, you know? Something about the sound of the wind, and the trees, and the lake that’s really calming. It just sort of pulls the stress right out of me.”

Regina hums against him. “Sometimes when I play my violin, it does something like that.”

He nods, squeezes her a bit tighter and takes a deep breath, settling into the comfort her sheer presence and acceptance provides.

“When things went pear shaped at home, I sort of… lived out here sometimes, for a bit,” he admits, is instantly mortified that he’s told her that, feels the old familiar sting of poverty nipping at him, and wishes he could take it back.

“Oh?” she asks, her voice is quiet, neutral, her hands soft and sure as they sweep up and down his back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Well, my parents used to kick me out, you know? And I didn’t always have a place to go. John’s parents got sick of me quite quick, and they couldn’t afford to keep me anyway. Even back then, Will wasn’t always around, so I couldn’t really depend on him,” he rushes to explain, feeling embarrassed. “But I had my truck and I was working, so I usually had a few pounds to put gas in and to grab a bite to eat. Couldn’t afford a hotel room or anything, but uh, this worked just fine, you know? Better than a lot of other alternatives.”

Regina doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and his heart pounds with anxiety, with all these god-awful feelings of regret and inadequacy welling up, knocking around in his chest while he awaits her judgement. Hers is the only opinion that has ever really mattered to him.

But then she takes this deep breath against him, and sort of cuddles in, her head tipping down against his chest, her hands twisting in the fabric of the back of his shirt as she hugs him closer, and tells him, “God, I’m so proud of you.”

It’s… not what he expected. And the way she says it doesn’t make him feel bad, doesn’t make him feel like she’s just placating him. He doesn’t know what to say to that - no one else has ever told him that they were proud of him, and he’s not sure what the correct response is. He feels silly, feels a bit uncomfortable and very unsure about what to say in return. _Thank you_ seems inappropriate and returning the sentiment, even though he _is_ proud of her, now feels like he’d be saying it just because _she_ said it. He gives up and opts for humor.

“I don’t suppose your mum ever kicked you out?” he asks, knowing full well the answer is a resounding no.

Regina sort of snorts a laugh against his chest and jokes, “More like chained me to the banister.”

He grins and nuzzles the top of her head, strokes his hand along the smooth length of her neck and rubs his other hand up and down her ribs through his jacket. _Christ,_ he loves this - loves holding her, loves talking with her, loves sitting in the quiet where it’s just the two of them. He loves that there’s no one to pull them apart, no one to douse this intense affection that flares between them every single time they’re within a thousand miles of each other.

“Why is it your mother is… the way she is with you, but not with Zelena?” he asks curiously. “Aside from the fact that your sister is, well, _Zelena._ ”

Regina snickers and shifts a little, moves up until her forehead is pressed against his neck and her left hand has come to rest on his chest.

“I don’t know for sure, of course, but my best guess is that my sister is a reminder of the life my mother was _supposed_ to have,” she tells him, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt - not undoing them, just fidgeting as she speaks. “The life she would have had, if Jonathan hadn’t _betrayed_ her.”

“Oh, how very dramatic,” Robin whispers with exaggerated excitement, and he feels her laugh even though it’s almost too quiet to hear. “What sort of betrayal are we talking about?” he prods, “An affair?

“I’m sure my mother would have much preferred that,” she says dryly. “But no. It’s probably England’s best kept secret that Jonathan Gardener is gay, Robin.”

“You’re having a laugh!” he accuses, sits up straighter, almost jostles her off his chest and grabs her tightly to keep her where she is.

Regina laughs against him and shakes her head.

“Seriously?” his mind is utterly blown. He’s known Jonathan Gardener his entire life, and he’s shocked he’s never figured this out.

“Mmhmm,” Regina nods, settling in against him once more, “Which my mother takes as a personal offense against her. Not only did he have the guts to divorce her, but he did it in favor of being with another _man_ , not because he was infatuated with some younger, prettier woman - and you know how insanely vain my mother is. How much her precious reputation means to her. Another woman she could have handled - she easily could have ruined her reputation and threatened her to pieces. But a _man_? The scandal was too much, too far beyond her control - she couldn’t make waves without it ruining her _own_ carefully constructed image.”

“Blimey,” Robin sighs, relaxing back against the door again and hugging Regina to him. “That must have driven her mad.”

“I assume so,” Regina shrugs a little, then adds, “Because almost the second their divorce was final, she married my father, and they made me - the replacement daughter.”

Robin frowns. He doesn’t like her talking about herself that way. She’s certainly no “replacement” - Regina is brilliant, amazing, bloody perfection in her own right. She shouldn’t be compared to anyone - in his opinion, no one else _can_ compare.

“So I think that’s why my mother pretty much ignores Zelena,” she sums up.

“But why’s she so hard on you?”

Regina takes a deep breath and starts playing with the buttons on his shirt again. It’s another little nervous habit of hers, like how she tucks her hair back, or bites her lip, or rubs at the calluses on the tips of her fingers sometimes when she’s having trouble getting the words out.

“I… I think she’s trying to… I don’t know, it sounds stupid…”

“Nothing you think or say is stupid,” he argues, raising a hand to run it through the silky hair at her temple, smoothing the onyx strands back, then running his thumb across her finely arched brow on the next sweep through.

He can’t see it, but he’s quite certain she’s just rolled her eyes at him.

“I think she’s trying to live _through_ me or something, I don’t know,” she rushes out, then buries her face against his chest, as if she’s embarrassed to have just said that.

“Makes sense,” he shrugs, and her head pops up.

“It does?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Who wouldn’t want to be you? You’re bloody brilliant. I personally can’t get enough of you.” He grins at her, and even in the dim glow of the dash, he can tell she’s blushing a bit.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs. Her hand comes up to trace his laugh lines, the pads of her fingers outlining his stubbled cheeks and dipping into his dimples while she looks up at him with so much reverence in her dark brown eyes, he swears he can feel it warm his soul.

She licks her thick lips then, and his stomach flips in excitement. He thinks she’s going to kiss him; his eyes drop to her mouth and she follows their movement, a small smile tipping up the corners of her lips - but then she just tucks herself against him once more, her head against his broad chest.

That’s quite alright with him, actually - he hadn’t intended for them to do anything other than talk when he brought her out here, and if they start kissing, _really_ kissing, he’s not sure he’ll be able to focus on much else. While he’s sure that’d be smashing, he’s honestly having just as nice of a time with her like this, and so when she brings her hand up to sketch invisible patterns against the side of his neck, just above his collar, he relaxes beneath her touch and doesn’t try to make anything more of it.

“She’s impossible,” Regina mutters a few seconds later.

“What’s that?”

“My mother,” she clarifies. “She’s _impossible_.”

“What d’you mean, darling?” he asks carefully. He agrees that her mother is impossible, but he’s not sure what direction she might go in and he knows better than to assume.

“I’m never good enough,” she says so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, what I score, how well I do - it’s never enough for her. There’s always something I _should have done better._ There’s always something I messed up, or someone who was better than me,” her voice is shaking now, her small hand gripping his collar, her face turned into his neck, muffling her a bit as she asks desperately, “What point is there in trying to take over my life when I’m so fucking terrible at everything?” She pauses and takes a harsh breath. “What is the point when I’m such a worthless failure?”

Robin can’t respond to her immediately. His throat is locked up tight, his teeth clenched, his lips pressed together so hard he’s sure they’re white. All he can think is _how?_ The word repeats, over and over _and over_ in his head.

How? _HOW?_

How can anyone know Regina Mills and think she is anything less than bloody fucking incredible?

He tightens his arms around her and ducks his head down so he can speak in her ear - he doesn’t trust his voice, isn’t sure he can manage more than a whisper considering the state he’s in.

“Your worth is not based on her _completely incorrect_ assessments,” he tells her. “Her criticism is a reflection of _herself_ , not you, Regina.”

“A reflection of herself?” she asks in this small voice that sounds nothing like the strong woman he knows, sounds much more like that broken girl he once cast himself in front of as her mother rained blows upon her. Her hand on his back is clutching at him in a death grip as if she’s afraid he might fall right out of the truck, and his chest aches, his eyes burn - he shivers under the need to make her aware of just how very worthy he finds her, of the immeasurable value she has brought to his life, just by being _her._ He is overcome by the urge to prove to her that her mother is _wrong._

“Yeah,” he swallows, then chances it. “If you get down to it, she pretty much thinks _everything_ is awful, so it’s not actually about you, not really. It’s all a reflection of her - everything is toxic, because _she’s_ toxic. A toxic bitch.”

To his relief, Regina relaxes a fraction, huffs and mutters, _Maybe_.

And he’ll take it. _Maybe_ is good enough for now. He’ll work on her - the Egyptians didn’t build the pyramids in a day, Michelangelo’s David wasn’t sculpted in an hour, the Mona Lisa wasn’t painted in ten minutes. Robin has all the time and patience in the world to help reconstruct her confidence, to repair the damage her mother has done and show her just how rare, how precious and dear to him that she is.

“If it helps to know,” he keeps his voice low, and steady, “My parents made me feel pretty bloody worthless sometimes too,” he confides, taking her hand in his and playing with her fingers, slowly threading and unthreading them. Her head tilts up a little, and although she doesn’t say anything, he knows she’s listening intently, can tell from the way her fingertips play lightly alongside his, tracing his heartline, his life line, then over the calloused grooves of his palms to flit between his fingers.

“One time, about a year after they’d kicked me out for good, I was at this corner shop near where I worked, and I ran into them. I was getting a bag of crisps and a soda, and when I reached into the cooler, my dad asked me to hold the door for him. So I did - thought he was putting me on, you know, was trying to be funny and pretending he didn’t know me. But he just reached in and grabbed his usual drink, looked me straight in the face and said thanks, like I was a stranger. Then he and my mum paid and walked right out.”

She curls her fingers around his tightly, whispers, “Oh, Robin.”

“It was the strangest thing, you know? I thought I’d gone mad for the longest time - that I’d imagined it or something. So I went to church one Sunday, a couple months later. I dressed like I usually do and sat in the back, and on the way out I made a point of running into them.” He sighs, tugs her closer and ducks his face down now so that his nose is buried in her hair. He takes a few deep breaths, using her warmth, her scent, her aura to calm himself, to push back the old hurt that’s stinging his eyes before he continues despondently, “They looked _right through me_ , like I was a ghost, like I didn’t exist.”

Regina sniffs against him, releases his hand and wraps hers up around the back of his head, pulling him closer to her. Her face is pressed right up against his neck, and he feels her lips press against his skin. She graces him with several small kisses all along his neck, and her compassion breathes life back into him, makes his heart stutter erratically and his lungs inflate. She has always made him stronger, given him the will to fight, the tenacity to survive, and he smiles before he dips down and catches her lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

They’re silent for a few minutes, completely absorbed in each other, trading careful, comforting kisses that don’t spiral up. They soothe instead, these kisses - Robin can feel the tension release with each press of their lips, every nuzzle of their noses seems to alleviate their mutual frustration, every shared breath easing them into a hushed repose.

He hates to interrupt, wants nothing more than to bask in this moment with her for forever, but he’s been waiting to ask her this, has been putting it off for the right time, and this certainly seems like _it_.

“Do you think that you want, that you’ll have kids someday?” he keeps his voice as calm and quiet as possible.

“I…” she pauses, and he can hear the confusion in her tone. “I don’t know. Do you?”

He knows he needs to explain better, knows he needs to give her a bit more context, but he’s nervous, _Christ_ , he’s so bloody nervous. “Yeah,” he starts, “After… after the way my parents treated me, the way they made me feel? I figure, if I ever had the chance to be a dad, I’d take it. And I’d do everything I could to give my kid the opposite of what I had, you know? I’d give them a hundred percent. I’d be the most caring, the most devoted dad they could ask for.”

“I can see that,” she nods, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners a bit when she smiles sweetly at him. “I have no doubt you would make _every single_ soccer game,” she teases.

“Of course I would,” he smirks, “I’d have to if I’m the coach.”

They smile brightly at each other, and it feels unbelievably good, feels _wonderful_ to talk about things like this with her - about children and their futures and _fuck_ , he shouldn’t ask for more. He knows he’s pushing her if he does, but he _has_ to know her answer, he _needs_ to know what her hesitation is.

“Could I ask you to explain your answer a bit?” he tries.

She takes a deep breath, and for a minute she doesn’t say anything, just runs her fingers back and forth across his hairline.

“I’m not very good at relationships,” she lowers her eyes, stares somewhere around his collarbone as she speaks, and he _swears_ she sounds ashamed. “Children are the ultimate commitment,” she continues, “They need so much love and support, and I… I don’t know if I’m capable of giving that. I haven’t even been able to support my _friends_ when they’ve needed me,” her voice breaks, and she pauses, blinks rapidly, then finishes quickly, “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

He’s about to protest, is about to heatedly refute her argument when she suddenly blurts, “I broke things off with Daniel. For good.”

“Oh-okay,” he stutters, whiplashed from the sudden change in conversation topics.

Regina launches into her story about Daniel’s collaboration with Cora, about their arguments today and what happened between them, while Robin hurriedly attempts to switch gears and pay attention to the drama that encompassed her afternoon.

He’s not at all done asking her opinion about having children - he still doesn’t quite understand her answer and doesn’t believe for a second that she’s not cut out for it. For fuck’s sake, she’s been taking care of him since he was seventeen, and been doing a bang-up job of it too. He doesn’t know anyone who loves as deeply, who cares as much, who is as protective and steadfast as the woman currently snuggled up in his arms. He hates that she doesn’t know this about herself, and he feels like a bloody idiot that he hasn’t been able to make her aware of this before.

He wonders if he admits to her, if he finally gets to his knees and tells her how desperately in love with her he is, if that would help. He’s been afraid to tell her before, has been certain she didn’t return his sentiments and that she’d pity him for his foolish heart. But he doesn’t think that anymore; in fact, he’s fairly confident that she has feelings for him too - she’s even got her very own sharpie tattoo this time as proof.

He supposes then, that the only thing left to do is to give it a go and see what happens.

* * *

Regina smiles to herself as she makes the long walk back to her room in the early morning hours. It’s blessedly quiet in the corridor, everyone is still in bed, sleeping off hangovers and resting tired feet from a night of carousing she didn’t miss in the slightest. Not even the party planning staff have risen yet, so the tear down activities Robin told her about haven’t begun. She’s glad, because apparently, for the half a dozen or so employees who stayed over, it’s relatively quick work to complete before they head off to be with their families on Christmas Day, and she didn’t want to get him in trouble for missing it by staying out with her all night.

And _what_ a night it was.

She slept with him. _Actually_ slept, as in, she legitimately, purposely closed her eyes and went to sleep without even attempting any sort of illicit activities first; regardless of the fact that curled up together on the bench seat of his truck should have been a terribly uncomfortable place to spend the night. By all rights, it should have been awful. She should have been afraid – she’s a born and bred city girl and the forest is creepy. Firstly, it’s insanely dark, but it’s also quiet, _too quiet_ , and when there _are_ noises, she can’t identify them - not like the tell-tale sounds of cars and sirens and construction she is so used to. This is probably the closest thing to camping she’s ever done, which she’s not even that embarrassed about. It’s not as if when she was a child she was given many opportunities to run through open fields and lay beneath the stars on a warm summer’s night, and even if she had, her mother wouldn’t have let her do it anyway.

But the noises of the forest didn’t bother her last night, because she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Robin’s steady, even breaths, and the true, rhythmic _tha-thump,_ _tha-thump, tha-thump_ of his heartbeat as she rested her head against his chest. And she didn’t mind the darkness, because whenever she opened her eyes, it was only to look at his face, which was beautifully accentuated by the soft blue glow of the buttons on the dashboard. The exquisite illumination cast her in shadow, allowed her a chance to stare more openly than she normally would, to memorize the shape of his kind eyes, the curve of his nose, the fullness of his smooth lips, the masculine cut of his stubbled jaw. If she hadn’t been completely exhausted, she would have tried harder to stay awake, she would have fought her drooping eyelids valiantly, just for the opportunity to look at him for a few seconds longer. To Regina, looking at Robin last night was like peering through a telescope and discovering a whole new galaxy brimming with starry possibilities, just waiting for her to come and explore them.

When she woke this morning, she was the most content she can ever remember being, all curled up against his chest, her ear pressed against his heart, arms wrapped around his big body. She doesn’t think she moved all night, just hugged him to her like an oversized teddy bear and got the best six hours of sleep she can remember having in a very long time. It’s unreal, because Regina doesn’t sleep over with _anyone_ , and she never lets anyone stay at her place – it makes her uneasy, makes her feel anxious.

But, now that she thinks of it, it seems that every single time she and Robin have been together, they have ended up “ _sleeping_ sleeping” together, and it’s never made her feel anything short of incredibly secure. Relaxed. Downright cozy.

Huh.

There must be something in the way Robin talks to her, something in the way he looks at her, holds her, in the way he sits in the silence and just _stays_ with her that is unbelievably comforting. She carries so much stress, particularly in the muscles of her neck, and it’s always tightening, creeping across her trapezius muscles and down, twisting into these awful knots behind her shoulder blades, generating so much pain - but somehow, just being with Robin releases the tension there. She doesn’t know how he does it, but he causes her pulse to _slow… slow… slow…_ into this steady drumming that matches his, and then her breaths fall into pace too - her chest expanding and contracting in perfect sync with him - and before she knows it, their fingers are interlaced, and her head is tucked under his chin, and her whole body has curled around him without her even realizing it.

He’s magnetic or something. Her opposite pole. Every conversation they have teaches her how their lives have been perfect contrasts, like the flip sides of the same screwed up coin. Perhaps that’s why it feels so right when she’s with him.

She steps into her bedroom, still smiling a little and licking her lips when she thinks about the exchange of kisses she and Robin just had in his truck before she slipped back inside the manor. Just inside the door, however, she pulls up sharply, the smile falling from her lips, and her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she rakes them across the room.

There is a good-sized fire crackling and popping loudly in the hearth, and it has very obviously recently been fed.

“Two nights in a row? My, my, I wonder what your father would say?”

Regina slumps against her bedroom door.

Across the room, sitting ram-rod straight, still as a statue in one of the large chairs, is her mother.

Regina is tempted to turn around and walk right back out the door. What point is there in having this conversation? She’s not a child anymore, and she never did learn anything from her mother’s awful lectures when she _was_ young enough to have to listen to them.

“If you’re thinking of leaving, you should know that I’m not here to give you a lecture,” Cora says calmly, as if she’s just read Regina’s mind.

Regina tips her head to the side and studies her mother for a few seconds, then straightens up a little and folds her arms, but maintains her position across the room.

“I know you’re angry with Daniel for confiding in me,” Cora continues. “But this doesn’t have to be a bad thing between you and I, you know. All I have ever wanted is what’s best for you. My advising Daniel on how to deal with your… less than pleasant attitudes… was simply an extension of that.”

“I told you I was done with you last night, and I meant it. Get out,” Regina stands firm, she wants nothing to do with her mother. She knows this is some sort of manipulation, some game Cora is playing.

Cora purses her lips in irritation, but when she speaks, her voice maintains that collected tone that she started with. “Come now Regina, I know you don’t mean that, just like you don’t mean you’re done with Daniel. You don’t just throw away the people you love – oh no, not _you_ , dear daughter. You are much too soft for that sort of thing.”

Regina grits her teeth and pushes off from the door, standing to her full height. “You’d do well to get your facts straight, Mother. I absolutely do _not_ , nor have I _ever,_ loved Daniel,” she says this with conviction, and she truly _means_ it.

Cora smiles.

“Good,” she purrs, her chin tilting up in approval. “It’s much easier this way, my dear, trust me.”

Regina is confused. “What? What’s easier?”

Cora rolls her eyes, “The relationship, of course. He can’t break your heart if he doesn’t have it to begin with, now can he? It makes things _so_ much simpler,” she pauses, as if she’s thinking deeply, then looks Regina up and down and adds, “Perhaps you have learned a trick or two from me along the way.”

“I have no intentions of pursuing any kind of relationship with Daniel,” Regina tells her, “As I said, I’m done, with _both_ of you.” Does her mother not hear her?

“You know, one of your many weaknesses is that you’ve never been able to see the big picture,” Cora crosses her legs and sits back in the chair, folding her hands primly in her lap. “You really are your father’s daughter. Stuck in the moment instead of thinking about your future, about _my_ future, about anything other than the puppet show that’s being displayed directly in front of you.”

“On the contrary,” Regina argues, “For once, I _am_ thinking about my future, and in no way does it include people who lie to me, who manipulate me, who use me to live out their selfish fantasies of the life they think they should have had.”

Cora narrows her eyes and Regina feels the heat of her anger, all the way from across the room.

“So it’s fantasies you want to talk about, is it?” Cora’s brows are raised high, her cold eyes fixed on Regina, “Shall we discuss that good-for-nothing criminal you’re so fond of and the bastard child he’s having with the Fitzwalter girl, then?”

The blood rushes from Regina’s head so fast she nearly faints.

It takes her a moment, but when she finally catches a breath, she manages to rasp out a rough sounding, “You’re lying.”

Cora watches her carefully, a frown lining the edges of her mouth, the corners of her eyes. It’s strange, because Regina expects her to be smiling, to grin at her victory. The fact that she doesn’t, _terrifies_ her.

“My dear, there is no need for me to fabricate such a thing, when the truth is far more hurtful than anything I could conjure,” she says, without a hint of remorse.

All at once, Regina can feel every cell in her body trying to spontaneously break down, every nerve impulse misfiring – the receptors unable to bind, transmitters slamming into each other, getting completely lost in the synapses – she goes completely rigid, is shocked into stillness, tries not to let her mother’s words sink in without asking Robin first but somehow she knows, she just _knows_ that what Cora says is true.

Her chest hurts, it _stings,_ like she’s been seriously wounded, as if someone has shot an arrow clean through her, has cleaved her heart in half, and it’s hemorrhaging all over the floor of her bedroom, and there is nothing she can do but stand here and watch it die.

“You have always resented me for trying to make you strong,” Cora says quietly. “Your father coddled you, spoiled you, showered you with praise and made you weak for the slightest bit of attention.” Regina raises her dark eyes to watch her mother speak, feeling numb all over. “I have tried for years to prevent something like this from happening,” she continues, “I knew one day you’d have your heart broken over some silly thing, and I tried to protect you. But I too, have failed,” she admits, and _that_ really catches Regina’s attention.

Regina doesn’t say anything, she’s not able to, but she does stare at her mother for a long while, waiting for her to tell her just how she thinks she has failed, certain that it is not in any of the ways Regina would gladly volunteer as evidence.

“I’ve let you pursue this music thing for far too long,” she sighs and shakes her head as she looks Regina up and down. “I should have put an end to this ridiculous notion long ago.”

Regina is so confused.

She is an excellent _,_ _beyond_ _excellent_ musician. She’s been playing the violin since she could practically walk, and her father started formally teaching her when she was barely four years old. The music is ingrained in her – she’s not only played it, she’s studied it, composed it, taught it, mastered it – there is no obstacle in music she hasn’t conquered.

“It’s time you grew up and thought about your priorities in life,” Cora tells her. “You have everything you need at your fingertips, and still, you choose to throw it away without rhyme or reason. Instead of focusing on settling down and taking advantage of what’s in front of you, you go chasing silly little dreams that, while you may have the skills to accomplish them, you certainly won’t be able to muster the self-discipline.”

Regina’s tongue feels fat in her mouth, her saliva thick. It’s been quite a while since her mother has attacked her for her competency as a musician. It’s the one thing she is usually _very_ confident about, and her mother’s brazen disapproval and unconcealed condemnation stings. It cuts at her like a thousand papercuts dipped in saltwater.

And Cora’s not done.

“You’ve dragged us all to England under the premise of starting your “career” in London, but I see now what this really was. You’ve been comparison shopping, my dear. And instead of choosing the _right_ man, a man with an excellent education and career, who comes from a reputable family of means and can clearly give you the life I raised you for, you’re about to run off with this deceitful, womanizing, felonious panhandler who, aside from this _Marian_ , has gotten lord knows how many other girls in trouble.” Cora sighs dramatically, and Regina feels faint, feels her mouth water like she might be sick.

“So you see?” Cora continues sanctimoniously, “You’re weak, Regina. You cannot be trusted to make your own decisions. _I_ _have_ to do what’s best for you, because you have proven that _you_ won’t. My dear, you’ve forced my hand.”

“Forced your…?” Regina is dazed, there’s too much going on, her mother is obviously insane, and, and…

Cora stands suddenly and pulls out Regina’s violin case from behind the chair she was sitting in. She walks to the bed, sets the case down and flips it open, then looks Regina square in the eye and snaps arrogantly, “I’ll not be so easily fooled again. You have no one to blame but yourself for this.”

The case is empty.

Regina stares dumbly at it for a solid ten seconds. Where the _hell_ is her instrument? It should be there. She _always_ puts it in the case. It’s the first rule of owning such a precious item – her violin is her lifeline, her career, it’s like having an extra appendage – she must take perfect care of it. She _always_ puts her violin _immediately_ back in its’ case when she’s done playing it. _It should be in there._

She glances up at her mother then, hoping for an answer, because _Jesus Christ_ , she just doesn’t know where the _fuck_ her violin could be.

Cora isn’t looking at her anymore though, she’s turned her back to the bed and is focusing on the hearth.

Where the fire is still burning brightly. Still flickering. Still snapping and crackling and popping.

_No._

_NO._

Regina _screams_ the word. She screams it over, and over, and over - she cries her anguished protests so loudly that even Cora backs away, but Regina is unconcerned; in fact, she hopes her screams wake the entire fucking house.

She launches herself at the hearth, scrambling on her hands and knees in her chic party dress, knowing that it’s already too late - _oh god, it’s too late, it’s much too late_ \- but she reaches for it anyway, not caring, not even feeling it when what’s left of the charred wood and red-hot metal string hisses against the skin of her bare hands. Her body is numb, tears streaming, blurring her vision, while she frantically picks through the embers. Piece by ruined piece, she stubbornly pulls out the remnants of her instrument and reverently sets them all around her on the floor, gazing with despair at the once beautiful wood as it smolders and smokes and crumbles before her eyes.

She is alone now.

Her mother is gone, and _god_ , it is _so_ fitting, because with the horrifying destruction of her violin, so is the very last piece of her father, for the instrument now laying in scorched splinters all around her was originally his.

* * *

It’s been a busy day for Robin. After cleaning up at the manor this morning, he volunteered to take the work truck back to the Fitzwalter’s with John, and then he stayed by himself to unload it, because everyone else had families they were hoping to get home to. He hadn’t had any plans for the day – Marian had invited him to Christmas dinner but he had declined, he’s not ready for that sort of thing, not yet – so he wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere, and he didn’t mind doing the extra work after John had covered for him last night. Of course, he was already anxious to see Regina again, but they had decided it was best to wait until the evening, since she had other responsibilities to tend to throughout the day with the Gardeners. Being that they’d both skived off an admirable amount of activities, they had agreed it was probably for the best that they at least _try_ to not be remiss today, being that it’s Christmas and all.

He can’t wait to see her though. He’s wracked his brain for a gift to give her and couldn’t come up with anything to buy that could possibly impress her on the meager bit of savings he’s stowed away, even if he could find an open store. But that’s alright, he thinks, because instead of a gift, he’s decided he’s going to man up and tell her how he feels. He’s going to hold her hand, and look into her gorgeous brown eyes, and he’s going to tell her that he’s completely in love with her, and then he’s going to pray she doesn’t laugh in his face.

He doesn’t pretend that she’ll say it back – he’s not _that_ thick - but if she at least smiles in response, well, that will be more than enough to satisfy him.

He sneaks into the Gardener residence at half-past eight, it’s been years since he’s used the front door, and idly, Robin wonders how many other people haphazardly come and go from Jonathan’s house without him knowing it. Regina is supposed to meet him in the cigar lounge, so he heads straight there, not wanting to waste a second of his time with her. Just the few hours they’ve been apart feels like way too long. Being away from her makes him feel stressed, makes him feel itchy all over, like he can’t quite get comfortable in his own skin unless it’s pressed up against hers.

He smirks. Hopefully in the next few minutes, _a lot_ of their skin will be pressed up together, touching, rubbing, _fuck_. He can’t seem to get enough of her.

When he enters the cigar lounge, she’s already there, and it appears she’s been there for a while. There’s a light haze of smoke hanging in the air, lingering from the fat cigar she’s smoking, the scent of Cuban coffee, toasted almonds, and tobacco is wafting around them. There is a bottle of whiskey on the table, and a tumbler with a finger’s worth of the delicious liquor left in it. Regina has her back to the door, and she doesn’t look up as he slips inside, though he knows she hears him, because she straightens up and takes a long drag on her cigar, then taps the ash into the crystal tray on the table before exhaling a slow, smoke-clouded breath.

Something is wrong.

He pauses by the door and studies her, tries to look for some clue as to what has happened before he joins her. Regina is so difficult to read sometimes, and others, it’s like she’s screaming her emotions at him. Unfortunately, right now appears to be the former, where her body language is strange, false stoicism masking whatever she’s actually feeling, and her hair is hiding her face from this angle, so he can’t try to read her expression. He has no choice but to go in blind, and he suddenly feels quite nervous about it.

“Hello, darling,” he says gently, making his way over and sitting down next to her on the couch. “How was –” he means to finish with “ _your day_ ,” but interrupts himself and gasps, _“Blimey,_ what happened to your hands?!”

She doesn’t look at him. Instead, she stares blankly into the space between the couch and the coffee table, scrapes absently at the cigar wrapper with the chipped, French-tipped nail of her right thumb for a few seconds, then murmurs, “Obviously I burned them.”

“Well, uh, yes, but, _how?!_ ” he sputters, “And _why_?” Panic races through his veins, fear floods his belly, and even though the burns aren’t _terrible_ , they look dreadfully painful. There are ugly, puffy blisters and irritated inflamed welts spanning from her fingertips all the way down to her wrists, and one long, curiously straight dark red line that crosses all four of the fingers of her left hand, and she’s just sitting here with nothing on them – no bandages, no ointment - as if they’re not bothering her in the slightest.

“Regina,” he urges, ducking his head to try to catch her eyes, “What the bloody hell happened?”

When, after what feels like an eternity, she slowly raises her eyes to his, his stomach instantly churns. He fights the urge to curl his lip with the fury that rises in him, because he’s seen this look on her face before – he’s bared witness to this brokenness, this shock, this fucked-up, terrorized expression.

This is her mother’s doing.

“She burned my violin,” she says calmly, licks her lips and raises her left hand to push her hair out of her eyes. “Did I ever tell you it was my father’s?”

Robin shakes his head no and fights the sting of tears that threaten his eyes. She hadn’t told him that heartbreaking piece of information, and now he can’t trust his voice, cannot speak because the only words in his head are hateful, spiteful, vengeful words of damnation for Cora-fucking-Mills and how much he hopes she gets hit by the next bus that passes her by.

Regina’s fingertips brush over the scar on her lip, then she drops her wounded hand back into her lap, and says nothing more.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her, when he can finally pull himself out of his rage. “I can’t imagine how horrid this is for you.”

She’s staring into space again, but she hums her agreement, a quiet, “ _Mm,”_ vibrating up from her throat.

“Your hands need first aid,” he tells her. “I’m going to go get a kit from the kitchen, and we’ll bandage you up, straight away.” Robin starts to stand, but she grabs his wrist, flinching at her own movement, and says, “No.”

“No?” he’s confused.

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly not,” he argues, gently taking her hand and flipping it palm up. “Your hands are so important, and not just for playing your violin, Regina. You shouldn’t risk it.”

“I said I’m fine,” she repeats firmly.

“What about your audition?” he tries, “What if they call you back for a second round?”

“It won’t matter,” she shrugs. “I don’t have a violin to play on, remember?”

“Surely you could borrow one, or rent one, or –”

“No.”

“Regina, please –”

“ _No_.”

“Darling, just listen –”

“NO!” she yells, standing suddenly and chucking the ashed out cigar at the table before she strides across the room.

Robin stands up too, irritated by her obstinance. “Why?” he snaps, “Why are you fighting me on this? Why won’t you just let me take care of you?”

She laughs coldly and attempts to cross her arms, winces awkwardly, then drops them to her sides.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she rolls her eyes. “I don’t need _anyone_ to take care of me.”

Robin takes a deep breath, his heart pounds frantically in his chest. “I know,” he agrees, “I know you don’t _need_ me to, but I _want_ to. I _want_ to take care of you."

She snaps, " _Why?_ " obviously angry, her lip curled in irritation, and he loses his patience, goes all in.

"Because I _love_ you," he puts as much honesty and conviction in his voice as he can muster. "I’m _in love_ with you, and that’s what you do for the people you love.”

He waits anxiously for her reaction, waiting for the shoe to drop, the bomb to go off, the explosion of feelings he is certain will come. But as he watches her, Regina’s eyes don’t widen. They don’t fill with tears. And they don’t crinkle with a sweet smile.

In fact, she doesn’t move, doesn’t change her expression at all.

Perhaps she hasn’t heard him.

“Regina?” he calls, and she stares right at him, her dark brown eyes fixed on his. “I love you,” he professes again, and it’s easier this time. It makes him feel lighter to say it, makes him feel free, and floaty, and happy inside, so he says it again. “I love you, and I want to take care of you.”

Her tone is perfectly neutral, carefully controlled when she speaks.

“Rumor has it that you’re going to be a father.”

Robin’s stomach plummets to the floor, his heart and lungs twist around in his chest like they’ve gotten sucked into a cyclone, and his hands shake like he’s just gone into rehab.

She knows.

Oh fuck, oh _Christ,_ _she knows._

It’s true, though, he _is_ going to be a father, he cannot deny it, so he nods with a grimace and tells her, “Yeah.”

She’s grinding her teeth – he can see it, can tell by the way her jaw is squared off and all tight, by the way her lips are pressed firmly in a straight white line.

“Marian is pregnant,” she states - her tone is hollow, dead. He _hates_ the sound.

He swallows thickly, feels his Adam’s apple bob under her sharp gaze, and again, he says quietly, “Yeah.”

This is bad. This is so, _so bad._ Robin _knows_ that he needed to be the one to tell her, and he honestly _was_ planning on it. He actually _had_ tried (and failed) at telling her on more than one occasion, but it’s still at the top of his list and he was absolutely going to tell her, he was just trying to find the right moment, but apparently, now it’s too late.

He’s fucked.

“Well,” she pauses to clear her throat, but he catches the waver in her voice, can see the tears welling in her eyes even as she fights them. _Shit. Fuck. God-bloody-dammit._ “Congratulations, then.”

_Congrat…ulations?_

“Sorry?” he asks stupidly, his eyes flicking around the room as if this is some daft joke. She should be raging at him – the woman he knows should be coming right after him, she should be poking him in the chest, giving him an earful, telling him what an arse he is for not telling her this.

Regina shuffles back to the coffee table, reaches out, and with a little whimper, she lifts the whiskey bottle and refills the tumbler on the table. Then, with a strangely steady hand, she gives him the drink and says quietly, “Here’s to you and Marian. You’re going to be great parents.”

“Regina, please,” he starts, anxiousness making his accent thick. He hates that she doesn’t understand the situation, and he’s frantic to make it better, but she shakes her head before he can get any further.

“I’m really happy for you, truly,” her face contorts in this awful, miserable smile that positively guts him. He wants to tell her _so badly,_ wants to explain, but he can’t, he’s sworn, he’s _given his word_ and he’s never broken it, _not once_ in his entire life.

She starts toward the door then, and he loses it, panics, and shouts after her, “Wait! Uh, can I, can I come see you tomorrow? There’s so much we need to talk about, Regina, please, I –”

She shakes her head no. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Pure dread fills his entire body. Not again. Please, _please_ , God, _not again._

“No,” he says, chasing after her, moving himself between her and the door. “Please, don’t go. Just, give it a couple of days, I mean, I know this is difficult, and you don’t understand, and then there’s your mother, and Daniel, but –”

“I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.” She tips her head to the side and her eyes have gone red around the edges, the little vein in her forehead standing up with the stress and strain of their situation.

“No, it’s not fine, it’s absolutely not bloody fine,” he argues. “Please, don’t go. Don’t go back, darling. I can’t - with the baby on the way - I can’t go after you, not all the way to America, if they’ll even let me in with my record, and I, I love you so much and _Christ_ , please don’t go, _please_.”

“Stop it,” she looks away from him, the muscles in her neck tight and straining. “You’re just, you’re being dramatic. This is… it’s just a silly fantasy, and you,” she snaps her gaze back to him, her brown eyes brimming with hurt, “You need to focus on your family now, on being the best father you can be, and supporting the mother of your child, and I…” she sniffs, shakes her head, then continues, her tone feverish, “I don’t belong here. Every time I come to this fucking country something terrible happens. Your life is finally turning around, Robin, you have everything you have ever wanted, right in front of you. You need to forget about me and be thankful for what you have here.”

“This is _not_ just some bloody fantasy,” he contends. “It never has been. I have loved you since I was seventeen-years-old, Regina,” her tears finally spill over and she starts to cry in earnest, and he hates to see her this way, but he can’t stop, he wants her to _stay_ more than he has wanted anything else in his life. He scrambles for a way to make her see reason, he needs a hail Mary pass, an ace in the hole, and only one thing comes to mind. “ _I dare you_ to tell me how you feel about me. _I dare you_ to look me in the eyes and tell me how you’re in love with me too,” he challenges.

There’s no way she can deny it, he _knows_ she loves him, he can feel it all the way down to the very depths of his soul. He can _see_ it in her, in the way this situation has hurt her, in the way she’s fighting like a caged animal to free herself from it. But he has full faith that she can do this, that she can at least admit that she loves him. Any second now, she’s going to gather that famous Regina Mills courage, and then she’s going to get good and mad, and she’s going to tell him. He believes in her; he _knows_ she can do this.

She takes several shaking breaths while he waits for her, the silence and tension thick between them, his anticipation vibrating across his skin and causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. Robin stays patient though, because his faith in her is stronger than her faith in herself, and he is so, _so proud of her,_ when finally, she swipes at her tears with her tragically burned fingers, brings her head up to look him straight in the eyes, and murmurs, “I love you.”

His heart soars - he knew it - he grins and reaches out to hug her, but she’s already moving past him, once again heading for the door. She grabs the handle and pulls it open in the next second, then turns back to him and calls, “Robin?”

He nods, so confused, _where is she going?_ Doesn’t that, _shouldn’t_ that fix at least _some_ things?

She runs her eyes slowly over him with pure sorrow written across her beautiful, elegant features, and his heart must understand what’s happening, because it aches, and he can’t breathe, and when she finally speaks, he feels like it’s been ripped clean out of his chest.

“I dare you to forget about me.”

* * *

Regina takes a deep breath and walks into the airport, concentrating hard on the throbbing pain in her hands as she drags her suitcases behind her. Oddly enough, the pain helps, it keeps her focused on her task, stops her from thinking about doing stupid, irrational things that she knows she cannot, and _should not_ do. She looks like shit this morning and she knows it, especially her hair, which she was only capable of scraping into the world’s smallest, ugliest ponytail. It’s a worthless hairstyle on her - her rebellious bangs and the short hairs at the back of her neck have already escaped it, damn them, and her fly-aways are frizzing up, and she knows she’s going to have to re-do it about fifty times today. She’s completely bare of makeup, in track pants and an old, oversized navy blue zip-up hoodie that doesn’t really belong to her, but is more valuable than anything else she owns, because now that her violin is ashes, it’s truly the only thing she has left of _anybody_ who’s ever given a damn about her. She has her black peacoat on and black Ugg boots pulled over the cuffs of her pants, and it’s a weird mish-mash of styles that make her look downright ridiculous, but she doesn’t care. It’s not like there’s someone waiting for her in New York, so what does it matter if she looks like crap?

“Regina!”

She cringes, squeezes her eyes shut tight and curses herself for booking her flight out of this godforsaken regional airport instead of taking a car to London. No one would have been able to find her at Heathrow - even at seven in the morning, she could have easily blended into the crowd. She could have pretended she didn’t hear her name being called, could have put her hood up and disappeared, could have kept walking and never even broken her stride.

“Regina, wait! _Please_!”

She stops walking, because the yelling is causing about as much of a scene as possible – the two whole security guards are looking at her annoyedly, while the half a dozen or so other people milling around in the three-terminal building stare curiously at her, and the last thing she wants is their stupid attention. She just wants to go back to New York and be left the hell alone.

“Blimey, for having such little legs, you’re quite quick, you know that?”

Regina turns and scowls, though most of her expression is hidden by her large, dark sunglasses.

“I’m not changing my mind,” she says quickly, trying to cut the conversation off before it starts. There is no other reason for _Marian_ to be here.

“I figured you’d say that,” the other woman shrugs, “What time’s your flight?”

Regina frowns. “Eight fifteen.”

“Good,” Marian nods, grabs her bags right out of her hands and drags them up to the check-in counter. “Let’s get these checked, and then we can talk for a minute before you go through security.”

Regina grits her teeth and prays for patience. She doesn’t want to talk to Marian. She doesn’t want to talk to _anyone._

“I can get these just fine on –”

“—on your own, yeah, yeah,” Marian talks over her, gives her an eye-roll. “I know you can - Rob’s told me all about you - but you’ll look like less of a nutter if I help you, since you’ve got these banged-up paws, you know?” She smiles at Regina, and dammit, it’s so warm, and so pretty, and so damn genuine, that Regina almost smiles back.

“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees, but she keeps her tone clipped and to the point.

They get her bags checked, then Marian takes her by the wrist and drags her over to a bench. She bids her to sit with her for a few minutes, and after pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head, Regina does - though it’s against her better judgment.

“So look,” Marian starts, boldly locking eyes with her, not shying away at all. The woman has this way of talking to everyone like they’re old friends – she’s beyond extroverted, it’s almost as if she was born without the socially awkward gene. “I’m going to start this conversation by asking you anyway, on the off chance you’ll just make this easy - will you just stay for a bit? Let Robin figure out how to explain things to you in his own way?”

Regina studies Marian for a few seconds. She’s one hell of a friend to come here and beg on his behalf – Robin is _so_ lucky to have her.

“No,” she shakes her head, “I’m sorry, but I have to go, this is for the best.”

“Thought you’d say as much,” Marian sighs, then puts her hands on each of Regina’s shoulders so she can look her squarely in the face. “I’m going to tell you something now, something you cannot ever repeat, not to anyone, not _ever_ , do you understand? The repercussions would be _terrible_ for Robin if you go gabbing your fat mouth, so keep it shut, okay? This stays between me, you, and Robin, got it?”

Regina blinks in surprise and confusion, then nods her acquiescence.

“I’ll have your word, if you please,” Marian presses, just like Robin, and oh, it makes Regina’s heart ache, makes tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She already misses him and she isn’t even gone yet.

“You have it,” she nods, “You have my word.”

Marian stares at her for a little longer, assessing her, her dark brown eyes boring into Regina’s, which are just a shade lighter - both sets stunning in their own way.

“Robin _is_ the father of my child,” she tells Regina, and she can’t handle it, she looks down and clenches her teeth. What is this, some cruel fucking joke?

“But,” Marian takes an unsteady breath and gives Regina a little shake, drawing her attention back to her. “But _biologically_ , well, that’s impossible, because Robin and I aren’t _like that._ ” Regina’s heart stops, then kicks into overdrive - starts flinging around in her chest like a game of Pong gone wrong.

Regina can’t look away from Marian now, can’t miss the uncertainty written across the other woman’s face, the blatant fear in her features. “So, if it matters to you, _and it should,_ biologically speaking, the baby is a match to Will Scarlet.”

Regina’s pulse is pounding in her ears. “A match to, to Will?”

“Of course,” Marian nods slowly, looking stricken and a little ashamed of herself. “Trust me, I know that he’s… _troubled_ ,” she sighs, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

“But why…Robin…?”

“Why are we saying Robin is the father?” Marian fills in, and Regina nods. “Because it’s what _he_ wants.”

Regina frowns.

“You know Robin as well as, or shit, probably better than anyone,” Marian looks heavenward. “He’s too good of a person, and I think he feels responsible for me, feels bad because Will knocked me up and took off. He knows Will might not come back, knows that if he does, he won’t be able to support us – which would totally depend on if he’s even _willing_ to, which I sincerely doubt he will be.”

Marian cringes, and rubs Regina’s shoulders lightly, as if _she_ is the one who needs comfort, before she continues. “Look, you know how Robin was raised, how his parents just chucked him. When I told him I was pregnant, he asked to be a part of the baby’s life, and Regina, I’m sorry but you weren’t in the picture then. Robin wants to do this, and maybe I shouldn’t, but I want his help. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and _I know_ he’ll be an amazing dad. Why should I deny him?”

Regina shakes her head. “You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t deny him.”

Marian tips her head to the side, “But I can see from your face, that I haven’t changed your mind, and I don’t know why. Robin and I have never been romantically involved, Regina. That’s not a thing you need to be worried about.”

Regina reaches up and carefully removes Marian’s hands from her shoulders.

“Why didn’t Robin tell me this?” she asks.

“Because he gave me his word that he’d never tell another soul that our child wasn’t actually his, the same as you just did. You understand what could happen if something were to happen to me, and someone found out, right? No one can ever know, Regina. Never.”

“I understand,” she nods, and she truly does make peace with the fact that Robin didn’t tell her. She thinks he would have – that he _did_ in fact – find a way to be honest about it, in his very own _Robiny-_ way.

“Then _stay,_ ” Marian pleads, “Stay, Regina. He loves you so much, and _shit,_ I don’t think I can take another five years of him griping about _the one that got away._ ”

“Marian, I can’t,” she starts, but is promptly interrupted.

“ _Have a bloody heart,_ for Christ’s sake!” Marian exclaims, openly exasperated, her dark brows furrowing, curls bouncing wildly as she tosses her head, her eyes rolling in annoyance. “I cannot watch him go through this again. You’re the love of his life, Regina. He’s not getting over you. He _cries_ over you. And then he _sulks._ And then he gets bloody _cranky_ , and then he just goes all weird and quiet for like, _months,_ until he finally turns into this barmy robot version of himself _._ It’s terrible. Don’t put us through that. Stay, and be with him. I know you love him too. You wouldn’t spend all your time in England romping around in the gutter with us rats, just to make him happy if you didn’t.”

Regina sighs. They all seem to think it’s so easy. Why is she the only person who is aware of the mountain of obstacles between them? Has no one else thought through the logistical nightmare of this? She doesn’t have a job, or even an instrument to _get_ a job with. All of her inheritance is in the States, and she doesn’t have any clue about how to deal with something like that. She has a whole life – an apartment, and a car, and a stack of other auditions to look through when she gets back. She has to figure out how to cut her own mother out of her life, and she has to get rid of Daniel too, not to mention that she has never spent more than a few weeks at a time with Robin. What if it doesn’t work out? What if this is just the honeymoon phase and the wind up hating each other? _Jesus_ , it’s all so uncertain and it’s so much so fast.

She thinks she could probably talk herself through most of those things though. She thinks with a little push, that she’d be willing to take the chances, and make the leaps, and throw caution to the wind, and just this once, she could go for it. But there’s one more hang up that she just can’t get past, one more issue that no matter what she does, she can’t seem to shake the thought.

She’s not right for Robin. She’s not what he needs, she never has been. Which is exactly why she needs to get on this plane.

“I do love him,” Regina nods, then smiles mournfully. She wishes she’d admitted this five years ago and wonders how different her life would be if she had. “But I’m not right for him.”

“But—”

“No,” Regina stands, “Marian, I appreciate you coming here and telling me all of this. It’s given me a lot of closure, and honestly, I am happy for you, and for Robin. You’re going to be great parents - that’s certainly one lucky baby.”

Marian frowns and looks exceedingly frustrated, but Regina won’t be swayed.

“Please, tell Robin that I’m not angry with him, or you,” she slides her sunglasses back into place – she’s not sure she can get through this next part. “Now, you and I both know that Robin needs someone dependable. Someone who is always there for him, who takes care of him, who supports him, who picks him up when he’s down.”

Marian is nodding along enthusiastically, and she starts to say, “Exactly, which is why –”

But Regina talks right over her, “Which is why _you_ are his perfect match. Not me.”

Marian’s mouth opens, then closes, and she looks like she desperately wants to argue, but no words come out.

Regina tips up her chin. Victory at last.

“Take care of him,” she instructs, “And yourself,” she lets her eyes slide down to Marian’s stomach, pictures the baby that’s growing within, and thinks about how happy being a father will make Robin. _God,_ he’s going to love that child _so fucking much._ She swallows thickly, hot tears brim, and she sniffs pathetically. Marian is the luckiest woman on Earth.

Just as Regina starts to walk away, Marian calls, “Oiy! Wait! Can I at least have your phone number? Or your email, or something? Just in case?”

“Just in case?”

“Yeah,” Marian stands and stalks toward her. “You know as well as anyone that sometimes bad things happen,” she reaches out and grips her by the biceps, implores her, “Don’t walk out of here without at least giving me a way to contact you if something… well, if I need to.”

Regina hesitates, bites her lip, then in a moment of weakness, she digs in her purse and pulls out a pen and a piece of paper. She scrawls her name and address, then her cell phone number, her apartment phone number, and her email.

“Only for emergencies,” she drawls, reluctantly handing it over.

Marian nods, then reaches in her own purse and gives Regina a piece of paper that already has both hers _and_ Robin’s contact information on it. Regina purses her lips and side-eyes the other woman - that was obviously planned, and she walked _right_ into it. Well done, Marian.

“For _whenever_ you want, which I expect will be often, yeah?” Marian smirks, and Regina rolls her eyes as she stuffs the paper into her purse and starts toward the security line once more.

“Honestly, though, feel free to ring either of us anytime!” Marian calls after her, her voice obnoxiously loud for the small space.

When Regina ignores her, she adds, “Day or night!” just as loudly, and Regina throws her an annoyed look over her shoulder, only to see that Marian is grinning, obviously teasing, calling attention to her on purpose, just to get her goat. _Jesus_.

“Oh, hey! Regina!” she yells again, and Regina stops, loudly shushes her, then walks the last two steps to security.

“Did I mention that I _adore_ getting letters?!” Marian exclaims, but she’s half-laughing now, “And you know, if you send me those pesky chain e-mails, I’ll make an exception - just this once - to forward them on!”

In spite of her heartbreak, her despair, and the uncertainty currently trying to consume her, Regina finds herself smiling a little as she passes her purse onto the conveyor belt. She glances back at Marian, who is standing exactly where Regina left her, bobbing on her heels and waving at her like they’re best friends, her dark chestnut curls bouncing around her shoulders as she smiles and apparently holds out hope that Regina will change her mind.

Dammit that woman is wonderful.

Regina _hates_ that she likes her.

She steps through to the other side of security, reclaims her purse, slings it over her shoulder, and takes a deep breath.

“Alright, alright, you can give up the ruse anytime, now!” Marian calls, her smile fading just a touch, apprehension softening her features, even as she teases, “You’ve made your point, you uppity, stubborn arse!”

Regina smirks and can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out. She’s afraid - _terrified_ , actually - and she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. She just knows that she _has_ to do this, because it’s the right thing to do, it’s clearly what she _should_ do, and she’s sick of screwing things up all the time.

So, with as much strength and courage as she can muster, Regina breathes deeply once, twice, then with shaking legs, she takes her first steps in the direction of her brand-new life.


	4. Part Four - 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a terrible misunderstanding left their budding romance in shambles last Christmas, Robin and Regina must decide if it's possible to work through their differences to save what's left of their relationship. 
> 
> (Rated E)

_** February, 2005 (two months later)**_

She shouldn’t be doing this. She knows that.

But…

She’s had a bottle of wine, and she already dialed, and now it’s ringing, and fuck, _fuck!_ he just picked up.

“Regina?” Robin’s voice is full of gravel, rough with sleep. “Wha’s wrong?”

It’s so damn good to hear his voice that for a few seconds she just basks in it, closes her eyes and listens to him breathe through the other end of the line.

“Regina?” he calls to her again, concern quickly replacing his drowsiness. “Are you there?”

Of course, that good feeling doesn’t - _can’t_ \- last, not in the wake of the decisions she’s made, and like a swift rising tide, pure longing for him suddenly crashes over her. It bursts through the carefully constructed dam she’s just barely managed to erect around her heart, drowns her with suffocating emotions, then surges out through her arteries, and at the last second, Regina manages to clamp a shaking hand over her mouth, but she’s still not quite able to muffle the pitiful sob that bubbles up from her lungs. _Jesus_ , she misses him, craves him, wants him back _so badly_ \- it’s been less than five seconds of contact but she has already made a whimpering fool of herself. And she _hates_ feeling foolish.

So she hangs up.

This is Robin, though, _her_ Robin, and she should have known better than to think she could get away with such ridiculous behavior so easily.

She shouldn’t startle when her phone rings - she _knew_ he would call back - and she shouldn’t allow her heart to flutter wildly in silly anticipation and excitement. But it does, damnit, because it’s him, and _god_ , she always feels this way about him, whether it’s been five years or five seconds since she's spoken to him.

She's certain he’ll keep calling now until he confirms she’s alright, but she feels exceedingly embarrassed about contacting him, has no clue _why_ she thought this was a great idea two minutes ago. She connects the call but is at a total loss for what to say - absolutely nothing comes to mind - and then too much time has gone by without her saying _anything_ , and shit, _shit,_ he’s repeating her name, asking if she’s okay, and she’s _still_ acting like she’s mute.

He calls her name once more, and now Regina can hear panic creeping into his tone. She finally snaps out of it, knowing she has to respond before she really scares him, and she forces herself to take a shuddering breath, to extract her teeth from where she has sunk them into her bottom lip, and the best she can do is sort of half-murmur, “Yes. Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s happened?” he demands, sounding wide awake now, and it belatedly occurs to her that it’s three in the morning where he is, that she’s calling him out of the blue and she hasn’t said anything of value at all. God, she’s a bitch.

“Nothing,” she clears her throat and speaks carefully, trying not to sound pathetic, or stupid, or most importantly, _tipsy_. “Nothing’s wrong, I um, I didn’t realize what time it was for you. Go back to sleep.”

“What?!” he’s not buying her terrible excuse, “Surely you’re–”

“Everything’s fine, go back to bed.” She tries to sound strong, as if she can convince him to forget this ever happened using merely her tone of voice.

“No, _please_ ,” he sounds a little desperate, and she squeezes her eyes shut, hating that she’s made him feel this way. “Please don’t go, don’t hang up just yet.”

“I shouldn’t have called –” she attempts, but he interrupts her.

“Yes you should,” his voice is gentle, coaxing now, “You _definitely_ should. Anytime you want.”

She grapples for an excuse to get him off the line. This was a bad idea. “Don’t you have to work in the morning?” she tries, “I’m ruining your night’s rest.”

“You’re not ruining anything. I’m going to sleep a lot better now that I’ve heard your voice,” he counters, “trust me.”

A strained moment of silence passes between them, and she can’t help it - she knows she should probably avoid any heavy topics with him but her guard is down, the wine has done a fine job of lowering her inhibitions, and she murmurs, “I do, Robin. I trust you.”

There’s another pause, this one even more tense, and she wishes she wasn’t breathing so shallow and fast, that she could stop the tremor of her hand as she presses it against her forehead in a vain attempt at pulling herself together.

“Where are you?” he asks, and there’s this lilt of hope interlaced with the worry in his tone that sends shivers of sparks straight up her spine.

Where is she? She’s, well, she’s… she’s…

Oh, Jesus.

She slides her hand up, threads her fingers in her thick black hair and decides that she must have lost her mind, she must be positively deranged to have just tossed them so haphazardly into the situation they’re now in. She considers not telling him, knows that she’s being selfish again, that she’s being a fucking tease, and she shouldn’t tell him things like this, that it’s cruel. But then he implores her, _Where are you, darling?_ and she knows how much he hates dishonesty, so she starts to cave, “I’m um,” she hesitates, almost laughs with the absurdity, then rushes it out before she can change her mind, “I’m in the bath.”

He blows out a long, drawn out breath into the phone, and in spite of everything, it makes her close her eyes and smile.

“Is this a dream?” he rasps.

She does laugh then, a brief, soft sound before she tells him, “ _Nooo_ , it’s not a dream,” and god, that has to be the alcohol talking, because it was low, and throaty, and _much_ too flirty to be appropriate.

He hums this deep, masculine sound of approval through the phone that makes her press her knees together - oh they should stop this - and breathes, “Feels like one.” Then he makes another little _mm,_ that makes her smirk and adds, “That’s, _Christ,_ that’s not quite what I meant, but _god_ , you’re really in the tub? Bubbles and all?”

Her smile breaks into a grin.

She reaches for her glass of red, takes a sip, and sinks down further into the hot water before confirming, “Mmhmm.”

He puffs out a little sigh through the receiver and mutters, “ _Good god_.”

“What _did_ you mean,” she has to change the subject, can’t let this continue down a path that is so incredibly tempting, “if not that?”

He’s obviously distracted, and she has to call his name not once, but twice, _and_ repeat her question before he gives her an answer.

“Was wondering if you’re on my side of the pond,” he admits. “Are you?”

Her chest tightens - god, if only. She had better tell him the news, she supposes, had better break it to him that she’s even further away now.

“No,” she admits, “Actually, I moved.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she wills herself to get it over with, not wanting to draw out the anticipation any longer than necessary. “I’m in Chicago now.”

“Please tell me this means you’ve told your mum to bugger off then,” his tone is teasing, but there’s seriousness underneath, and when she half-snickers a _yeah,_ she can practically hear his pride. “I’m sure that was quite the ordeal, but I never had a doubt you could do it.”

Even though he’s not here to see her get nervous and flustered from his praise, his approval makes her cheeks heat anyway, makes her duck her head and tuck her hair back. It feels wonderful to have done something right for a change.

“Are you alright out there?” his voice is soft now, sweet. “I mean, are you uh, all on your own, or uh, have you got any friends there or… did you decide to go for a completely fresh start?” It’s awkward for a minute while she thinks about his question, reads between the lines and suffers a pang of guilt over what he's really asking her.

She can tell that he wants to know if Daniel went with her, and he’s doing an exceptionally poor job of concealing it. She thinks she could be offended that he feels the need to ask, that he didn't take her word for it back in December, but she can’t find it in her - not when she’s the one who walked away from him, them, _whatever_ , once again. It wouldn't be fair to get angry with him over his doubts, especially when he’s always acted more protective of her than jealous. She's sure this is just an extension of that, of his self-appointed duty to ensure she is safe and sound, which is strange to be able to still feel even though they’re thousands of miles apart. She’s never been able to take this home with her before, has never been lucky enough to have access to him outside of Gardener Manor, and, like he said, it feels like a dream.

“I’m on my own out here,” she admits, trying to keep her voice even. “Some of the people I work with seem alright, though. They’ve already invited me out for drinks a few times.”

“You’ve got a job?” She can feel his honest excitement right through the phone, and it elicits this tingly warmth from the inside out. “Oh, that’s smashing! I knew you could do it, darling! Which orchestra is fortunate enough to have you?”

Her smile instantly falls, and she sets her wine glass down so she can cover her eyes with one hand, hiding even though he can’t see her when she tells him this next part.

“Thank you. It’s um, it’s not with an orchestra, actually. I… it’s working with a youth music education foundation.”

“A foundation?” she can hear the confusion in his tone, predicts the question that’s coming before he asks it, “So… you’re not playing?”

“Um, no, no, I…” she rubs her eyes and reiterates the reasoning she’s used in her recent interviews, tries to play it cool. “I’ve been focusing on playing for so long you know, that I just, I need a break from the concert scene. I think it’s time to focus on something else for awhile, and I can’t think of anything better than empowering kids in music.” She does _not_ tell him she doesn’t even own a violin anymore, that she hasn’t been able to so much as look at one since the day her mother destroyed hers.

He’s quiet for a moment, and she waits for his judgment, hoping he doesn’t challenge her on her decision. She’s done a lot of thinking, and she really feels like she needs to do this. Her father would have liked her doing this kind of work, he’d be proud of her, of giving back instead of taking, and she likes the idea of it too, likes the thought of helping kids achieve what she could not.

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there’s definitely curiosity, but _not_ judgement in his tone.

“I…”

Why does he always have to ask such difficult questions?

“I don’t know. I just, I need to try something else for a while, Robin,” she confesses, her voice hushed even though she’s alone in her apartment. “I _have_ to - I have to at least try, don’t you see?” she pleads, she doesn’t know why she sounds so upset, why her voice is breaking, why she feels desperate for him to accept this. It occurs to her that at some point she stopped referring to her career, and apparently Robin has picked up on it too.

“Yeah, no, I know - _fuck_ , I’m so sorry.”

Regina doesn’t know what she was expecting from him, but it wasn’t his apology, particularly not one that’s filled with so much remorse that a sharp pang of guilt slices through her over the way she’s just begged him to understand.

“No, it’s - it’s fine,” she shakes her head, tries to stay calm.

“Please don’t say that when it’s not,” he gently cuts in. “None of this is fine and we both know that it’s my fault.”

“Robin…” Oh no, oh god, she didn’t want this, didn’t want to talk about this with him, not now, not _ever._

But he’s not stopping, he’s charging on, his regret and self-deprecation oozing through the phone. “I should have told you about the baby straight away,” he says, “I didn’t try hard enough, I didn’t do enough, I fucked everything up,” his voice shakes as he continues, and Regina clenches her jaw, wishing he’d stop but unable to voice her protest. “I understand exactly why you left, you know. I should _never_ have expected you to stay, I had _no right_ to even ask it. I know how much I hurt you, and how much your mum hurt you - and I get why you’re doing what you’re doing, honestly, I do.” His voice is so strained it makes her ache inside, and she hates this, hates how she can _feel_ his self-worth diminishing with every word he says. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Regina, you have nothing to prove. I only want you to be happy, that’s all. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, knows she shouldn’t say what she’s about to, _fuck,_ that she absolutely should _not_ say what she can’t seem to stop from spilling from her lips. _Damn_ this wine. “I just miss you so much, Robin."

“ _I-love-you_ ,” his response is so fast she _knows_ he didn’t mean to say it, but she scolds him anyway with a breathy, _Jesus,_ and he immediately corrects, “Fuck. _Shit,_ I couldn’t help it, I just–” he cuts off with this horrible, choked sob, and she fights her own tears, draws her knees up to her chest and presses her forehead down against them as she clutches hard at the phone and tries not to fall - whether that’s to pieces, or more in love with him, or both, she’s not sure.

“I can’t do this,” she tells him, because it’s the truth and he needs to understand that they cannot have these things. He can’t tell her that he loves her and she can’t say it back - it hurts too much - she’s not able to form the words when he’s off starting a family with Marian and she… she’s… she’s trying to move on. This love for him makes her weak, makes her hurt so badly inside that she feels like she might die.

“I shouldn’t have called,” she sighs defeatedly. “I just…”

He’s silent at first, but when she doesn’t continue, he prompts quietly, “You just?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing, but she’s so vulnerable now that she tells him anyway. “I didn’t want to spend my birthday alone.”

“It’s your birthday?”

She hums her confirmation, fights her cringe.

“Well then, cheers to you and many more, darling. I’m honored to keep you company while you get hammered in the tub on this lovely Wednesday night.”

Just like that, his teasing has got her smiling again, a little laugh slipping from her lungs, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her cheeks flush.

“What makes you think I’ve been drinking?”

“You’re enunciating too much,” she pictures his dimples as he explains, imagines the blue of his irises. “When you’re sloshed you always do that - you over-pronounce your consonants and make an effort to proper separate each word so you don’t slur, and you always end up sounding like you’ve just come from tea with the Queen. It’s bloody adorable.”

How he remembers these little things about her, she’ll never understand.

“I may have had a glass of wine,” she admits, and when he scoffs, she amends, “Okay, two glasses,” - he outright laughs - “Fine, a bottle! And maybe a little Johnny Walker Black, you win.”

“Good for you,” he commends.

“But I’m not _hammered_ ,” she argues, then sort of regrets it. “I’m not sure what that says about me.”

“You’ve always been able to hold your liquor,” she imagines he’s smirking now, wishes she could see his face, the quirk of his lips, the cock of his brow. “Well, except for that one time at Christmas, but we were only seventeen, and honestly, I blame the absinthe for that.”

She snickers into the phone, recalling their antics that Christmas, and damnit, her eyes are burning, brimming with tears again. “That shit was terrible,” she agrees, sniffing pathetically and trying to cover it by joking, “To this day, I can’t drink anything with anise.”

“Me neither.”

They fall into silence then, and she doesn’t know what else to say. She craves his touch, wishes he could hold her, that she could bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale that familiar, woodsy scent she loves so much.

But she can’t, and she never will again, because _this is for the best_. She’s convinced that this is how it’s supposed to be - she doesn’t belong with _them_ \- with Robin and his child and Marian. She doesn’t fit into the equation - there’s no room for her in their family photo, no place setting at their table, hell, there’s not even a spare bedroom at their house. There could be - Regina knows that all she would have to do is ask, to hint to Robin that she wants to be a part of it, and he would do everything he could to include her, but that's precisely the problem.

Regina is entirely too selfish to merely be _included_.

She wants all those things. She wants to wake up to Robin every day and fall asleep next to him every night. She wants to have children with him, make traditions and a million memories together.

But it's just like her mother has always said - Regina is _spoiled,_ and she is _selfish_ , and she doesn't want to _share_ , she wants Robin and her little fantasy family all to herself. Which can never happen now, thanks to Will and Marian. So this is the way it should be - no - it’s the way things _must_ be, because she’s just too fucking stubborn to make an exception, even for Robin, for this wonderful guy she's been in love with for forever. She's been on the losing end of love for too long, has had it dangled in front of her too many times only to have it ripped out of reach, and if she can't have him all to herself, well, then she supposes it's best that she not have him at all.

“You didn’t fuck this up,” she tells him. “I don’t want you to say that - don’t even _think_ that - ever again. This is on me.”

“But I –” he sounds tired now, and she remembers how late it is for him.

“I mean it,” the alcohol is wearing off, and that warm feeling she had before is leaving her, letting her common sense slip back into place. “You had no obligation to tell me anything about the baby, Robin. I wasn’t in your life when you made that decision, and honestly, we both know that regardless of _who_ told me, I wasn’t going to be able to stay with you after I found out. I’ve never been the girl who sticks by you when you need support; I’m too selfish, I never learned how to share, and the reason I haven’t figured out a way to fit into this _situation_ is because I already know that I never will.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, “If you would just give it a chance, I can show you, we can –”

“ _No_ ,” she says firmly, but he keeps trying to debate it with her, keeps trying to sway her, to convince her she’s wrong, but she’s not listening.

There's more at play than her selfishness, if she's being honest. Deep down, in the dark corners of her heart, Regina has a hunch that instead of taking after her father, she's inherited her mother's toxicity. She suspects that just like Cora, she has this innate ability to infect everyone she comes into contact with, to turn them into terrible people and force them to make rotten decisions that they would never make if she wasn’t there to influence them to do so. Just look at Daniel - he’d been a wonderful guy at the start of their friendship, but she’d strung him along, _strung him out_ , for two years and by the end, she’d manipulated his feelings and made him so desperate for her attention that he’d turned to _her mother_ for help. She’d ruined him, just like she has nearly ruined Robin, and she knows, deep down, that she has to let him go. It’s clear to her now that they need a clean break, a total separation, because he’s blinded by her, he puts her above himself, and he can’t do that right now. He needs to put his efforts into learning how to be a good father, and he needs to take this opportunity to get his own life right. He won’t do that if she doesn’t stop this. He’ll stubbornly stay stuck in the past, waiting for her, letting her drag him down like a block of cement chained around his ankles, and damnit, she wants him to rise up, to have all the wonderful things he’s been robbed of up until now.

“I never should have called you tonight.” She looks heavenward and curls her lip, full of self-disgust.

His patience must be running short now though, because he instantly counters with, “Regina, I’ve already told you that _yes,_ you should’ve.”

“This was an incredibly stupid mistake,” she tries again, adding a cold, cutting edge to her tone, to which he incredulously contends, “I _refuse_ to believe that, and I know you don’t either.”

She’s angry now - _furious_ actually - with herself, with him, with the fucking situation. What was she thinking? How could she possibly have thought this was a good idea? Fuck. _Fuck._

“It won’t happen again,” she threatens, but he interrupts her once more, this time with, “Why-the-bloody-hell not?”

Hot, humiliating tears are spilling down her cheeks now, but she pushes through. She doesn’t bother to answer him, just obstinately plows on with her decision, shoving the words out, practically tasting the venom on her tongue.

“Don’t you dare call me back this time –”

He scoffs, “Like hell I won’t –”

She gets desperate then, snaps, “This is _wrong,_ our relationship is _wrong_ and we both know it –”

“No it’s not, what’s gotten into you? Regina, stop it, don’t do this –”

“Goodbye, Robin.”

She hangs up before he can say anything else, powers off her phone, and flips it shut with a harsh _snap_ that echoes in the small bathroom. She’s a self-centered bitch for calling him, and she vows that she won’t do it again.

She had thought that this would be a wonderful indulgence, that this would be a sweet little birthday gift to herself today, a reward for doing such a good job and finally escaping her mother’s grasp, but no. This was more punishment than anything, a reminder of her sins and all she has lost because of who she is and all the things she is not capable of.

But at least now she knows that under no circumstances should she contact him again. It’s a _dreadful_ idea, and it only amplifies the emptiness inside of her, makes her feel sick, like a parasite has slithered into her body and is slowly leeching the life from her, making her lightheaded and totally exhausted.

Perhaps it was naive, but she always thought that the scar on her lip would be the worst she’d ever have, that her mother would be the one to blame for the most vicious of marks on her. It’s funny how in reality though, that her worst scars are invisible, made by her own hand cracking the lash over and over across her heart with such ruthlessness that it’s a total mystery as to how she lasted this long before tearing straight through it.

But she’s done it now - she’s ripped it, shredded it, made it into paper mache tonight - and she doesn’t have anyone left to help her glue it back together.

* * *

"He's a boy! He's so bloody perfect, he's just, _fuck_ , he's so beautiful, oh my god, Regina, I can't believe it!"

She startled to receive a call - _any_ call - from him, but she smiles, genuinely smiles, bright and wide, on the other end of the line, and tells him truthfully, "Robin, that's wonderful!"

"He's a tad early, you know, so they're saying he's a bit weedy, but I think he's just going to be a half-pint anyway, he's got a leaner body you know? Like Marian. He'll probably be a runner, built for speed not strength. But anyway the doctors say he's proper healthy, that he'll be just fine with a bit of extra attention these first few weeks–" Robin is talking so fast it's difficult to understand him, his accent thick with his excitement, his words stringing together as they topple over each other. "He's so perfect, I've never seen anything like him, darling, he's just, he's, he's, he's everything."

He chatters on for a few more minutes, then ends with a dreamy, satisfied sigh that makes her laugh, happiness for him causing warmth to spread through her chest, her smile crinkling her eyes as she envisions him bouncing excitedly around the hospital hallway.

"I'm guessing he came with all ten fingers and all ten toes, then?" she teases, "Or did you forget to count?"

He laughs, "Don't tell anyone, but I absolutely did," Regina snickers. "He's got the _tiniest_ hands, and his toes, _Christ_ , I never thought toes could be adorable but they really are, and oh, you should see his wee fingernails, I don't know _how_ we're ever going to cut them, I'm going to need a bloody magnifying glass. And you know, he's such a handsome little chap, he's only been in the world ten whole minutes but he's already charmed every nurse in sight."

"Mm, he takes after you, then."

She bites her tongue a little too late, knows she shouldn't have said that. It's been five months since they've spoken - five and _a half_ months, actually, but it feels like forever - and she should not be flirting with him. Especially not today.

Robin hums happily and tells her, "Well, actually he looks more like Marian - he's got her complexion, her dark eyes and hair - it's obscene, the amount of hair my boy has, just wait 'til you see it."

There's an unspoken request in the air - he's asking her to visit - but she steadfastly ignores it, chooses instead to let it hang there, and just says, "I can imagine that between the two of you, he won't end up lacking in looks _or_ personality."

Robin laughs again, "Certainly not," he sighs happily into the phone again and tells her, "This is the best day ever, best thing that has ever happened in my entire life. I'm so fucking glad you picked up the phone today."

Any other day, in any other circumstance, that might have sounded accusatory, but not today. He doesn't mean it to be hurtful; she knows he's just excited and not thinking out his choice of words, that he's clearly overwhelmed and, god, he has every right to be - he just became a _father_. Even she's struggling with the shock of it, the reality of the situation slamming into her chest and stealing all the air from her lungs, making her take little panting breaths as she tries to calm her unsteady pulse, swiping quickly at the wetness she will _never_ admit is pooling in her dark brown eyes. She doesn't even consider making a big deal out of what he said, doesn't try to make it about herself, no - instead, she tries to act like the adult they're supposed to be now, focuses on what she knows he _meant_ , and tells him, "Me too. I am so happy for you, Robin. For you both. Please give Marian my congratulations."

"I will," he sounds more collected now, starts to say something more but then he asks her to hold on for a second while he talks to someone nearby. "Fuck, I uh, I've gotta go," he says, disappointment lacing his words. "I've got to call Marian's parents and let them know the good news. My boy came so fast we didn't have time to call a single person - I guess he wanted to meet us so bad he just couldn’t wait ‘til his due date."

She starts to laugh, then chokes on it when she realizes that he just admitted to calling _her_ first, even before he called Marian's parents. In a desperate attempt to keep quiet, she quickly brings her fist to her mouth and presses it firmly against her lips, and it helps, thank god, but she is helpless to do anything about the hot tears that are now streaking down her cheeks.

Jesus, she loves him - _still_ loves him - so, so much.

"I don't blame him," her voice is rough with emotion, so she tries to cover it by joking, "You've been trying to coax him out for days, haven’t you?"

He cracks up, tells her he'll admit to nothing, and when she asks what they've decided for a name, he tells her, _Roland_.

"I love it," she nods, "I can already see him getting into all sorts of trouble, with a name like that."

"Oh yeah, my boy's going to be a rulebreaker," Robin laughs, "But I'm going to give him a proper example of where the line is and how to skate just this side of it."

"I know you are," she says with conviction, and she truly means it.

After a few more seconds of excited conversation he repeats that he has to go, but he continues to linger, obviously reluctant to hang up, so she takes pity on him and ends the call by telling him she was on her way out, and thanks him for letting her know about Roland. Then she congratulates him again and quickly hangs up before she does something stupid, like accepting his invitation to visit, or telling him she loves him, or confessing how badly she wishes that boy was hers, _theirs._

It’s the twentieth of July, and it’s been five miserable months since she told him not to contact her, that their feelings for each other were _wrong_ , and even though she wants to, she has no right to even mention that she misses him. She has no right to burden him with the fact that she thinks about him constantly, or that she hates living in Chicago, or that her mother has tracked her down and is _still_ making her life a living hell. She gave up her privileges to accessing his thoughts, feelings and opinions back in February, and she damn-well knows it.

He has a son now, a whole family, and he needs to focus on them. She cannot distract him with her inability to get her life together or her pathetic need for his affection. A tiny new life depends on him - he has _real_ responsibilities - and she needs to remember that _she_ isn't one of them.

* * *

To be quite honest, he’s starting to feel a bit embarrassed, but he can’t stop crying.

It started off as happy tears. He had his son tucked safely into the crook of his arm and was marveling at how perfect he was, tracing the lines of his tiny little face as he slept, swaddled tightly in his pale blue blanket and matching hat when he first felt the wetness on his cheeks. Where in the past he would have fought ferociously to stop the tears from streaming, Robin hadn’t even tried this time, for he hadn’t felt the need. He is decidedly _not_ his father, and for perhaps the first time ever, he hadn’t felt obliged to bow down to his father’s expectations of what _manly behavior_ should be.

That's all because now _he’s_ a father in his own right, and _he_ gets to make the rules, gets to teach his own son the ways of the world, and _he’s_ got to set a good example. Robin has never seen his father cry, has never seen a lick of emotion other than anger and disappointment from his old man, and he’s vowed he won’t do that to his boy. He’s promised to show his son just how much he cares, that Roland’s going to know without a doubt, right from day one, just how much his daddy loves him. So when the overwhelming feeling of adoration flooded him and caused those big crocodile tears to well-up, well, Robin figured there wasn’t any harm in letting them spill, not if it showed his boy how much he cared.

That was over an hour ago, though, and now Roland’s been tucked into his bedside bassinet next to Marian, where he’s sleeping peacefully. Marian is resting too, rightfully worn out from the miracle she performed today, and Robin’s posted up in the recliner next to them. He hates himself for it, wishes he could stop it but no matter what he does he _can't_ \- he keeps glancing back and forth between his son and Marian, keeps wishing she was someone else - and the tears keep falling, his hands keep clenching with how _wrong_ , how _unfair_ it is. He is unbelievably grateful for the gift he was given today, and by all rights he should be blissfully happy with what he has. In fact, he should be so full of happiness that he never feels the need to ask for another thing as long as he lives, because now that he has his son, he knows for a _fact_ that he’s the luckiest bloke on Earth.

But... every time he looks at Roland tonight, his peripheral vision plays horrible tricks on him, warps the image of Marian - turns her hair from chestnut to onyx, shades her skin from golden to olive, reshapes the profile of her face from soft, rounded features to sharp, elegant edges - and paints the picture of his beautiful Regina. He keeps squeezing his eyes shut, keeps rubbing his palms as hard as he can into them, keeps shaking his head and cringing at his terribly selfish, disrespectful longing for another woman.

It’s not that he wants Marian to go away, it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate her, or that he’d change things about their situation now that it is the way it is. It’s incredible, truly, and his son is perfect, and he loves everything about him.

But Marian is not Regina, she's not even close.

And he misses _her._ He aches for _her._ He loves _her._

And he can’t help thinking that if he’d done - if he’d said - something, _anything,_ differently last Christmas, that Regina might be here with him. She might be holding his hand, she might be right here celebrating with him and holding his child. She might even think about wearing his ring someday, and fuck, she might even want to be a parent with him too.

But she’s not here, and she won’t ever be, because no matter what she says, he _knows_ that he fucked everything up. He kept a secret from her, which he’s well aware that to Regina, is as good as being lied to. He’s witnessed first-hand how she’s been emotionally abused her entire life; he’s seen how her family has dangled false affection to lure her in and then used misinformation as a weapon to get what they want out of her. He’s seen her sister exploit her, has gritted his teeth and held his tongue as Daniel asserted control over her, has watched in horror as her mother broke her over and over again. He knows well the look in her expressive eyes, the tone of her voice, the feeling of her energy that comes over her when she’s been shaken all the way through, and the last time he saw her, oh, she was all of that. So he knows that she has lumped him in with the liars and the users she is so accustomed to, he’s been labeled as one of _them,_ and this is precisely why he _knows_ she’s never coming back.

“You should ring her.”

Marian’s voice is a low whisper, so quiet that she thankfully doesn’t startle him, just pulls him slowly from his thoughts.

“Sorry?”

“Ring her,” she repeats softly, a small understanding smile turning up one corner of her lips.

“Who?”

Marian rolls her eyes and raises one hand to brush her unruly ringlets off her forehead. “You know who.”

Robin sniffles and swipes at his tears, though it doesn’t do any good. The tears continue to fall freely, though he _does_ try to stop them now - he doesn’t want to upset Marian. He doesn’t want her to think he’s ungrateful. This is supposed to be _their_ day - this is _her_ son too, after all.

“I chatted with her earlier, actually,” he gives her his best, albeit watery, smile and adds, “She was really happy for us, she sends you her congratulations.”

Marian watches him closely, stares deeply into his eyes, studies his shaking hands for a few seconds then asks, “Did you ask her to come back?”

Robin shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“Then go ring her again.”

He tips his head to the side. “You know she said she doesn’t want to hear from me, Mar,” he argues, “I already cocked that up by calling in the first place.”

“I don’t care,” Marian says flippantly, waving her hand at him, “She’s being an idiot. Ring her back.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” he argues. “She probably won’t even pick up this time. And if she does, I doubt she’ll want to have it out.”

“So what?”

Robin huffs in frustration. Marian’s persistence, while well-intentioned, is downright annoying sometimes.

“I already know she won’t come back,” he argues, runs his hands through his hair, then down over his face. “I’ve told you a hundred times, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I hurt her, and she doesn’t _want_ to be together. I don’t even know if she ever did, actually, we never really talked about it for real.”

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got two options, love,” she’s keeping her voice down, but she’s got that no-nonsense tone he’s so used to, and it’s got him bringing his eyes up to meet hers purely out of habit. “You can ring her, tell her how much you love her and convince her that things will be tickety-boo if she’ll stop being such a stubborn arse and just come back,” Robin ducks his head and laughs quietly at her cheek, “Or, you just sit there miserable all night. One of these scenarios has at least a fifty percent chance of you getting the love of your life back,” she shrugs, “The other has a one-hundred percent chance of me chucking this TV remote at your head so I can get some sleep.”

Robin grins when she waggles the remote at him threateningly, and raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he rises from his chair, and makes his way to the door, his mobile in hand. “You win, but only because I know you’ve got an arm like a bloody cannon, and I don’t fancy frightening Roland by sporting a black eye on his first day.”

Marian snickers her agreement, leans back against her pillow and closes her eyes.

Robin heads down the hospital corridor until he finds an exit, then he steps out into the hot, humid evening, continuing along the sidewalk until he comes upon an empty bench. He sits quietly for a few minutes trying to think up what he should say to Regina (should she even answer), wondering what in the hell might get her to trust him again, what might coax her into giving him another shot when he failed so spectacularly the last time, but he can’t seem to come up with anything particularly brilliant.

He pulls up her name in his contacts and stares at it for a few minutes, warring over whether he should bother her again. He doesn’t want to be a thorn in her side, isn’t trying to pressure her into doing anything she doesn’t want to do, but Marian is right. This time their separation is not like all the other times - where before they had no way to communicate, this time they’re _choosing_ not to see each other, to not even speak, and it’s killing him. He’s afraid he’s losing her, that every second that passes only serves to convince her he is just like everyone else - a liar, a user, an abuser. He knows there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of other blokes out there who are more than willing to give her a better life than he can, who can provide her with opportunities that he won’t ever be able to, but when it comes to _loving_ her, well, he’ll put his heart up against anyone.

Robin has never felt this way about another girl, and it’s not just about their incredible chemistry, it’s not just about the thrill of a budding relationship. He doesn’t see her as perfect, he hasn’t put her up on some bloody pedestal - no, in fact, he’d wager he’s the _only_ person who actually sees Regina for who she really is. Most people never get closer to her than arm’s length - from a very young age she’s been keeping people at bay - a hardened outer shell was necessary for her to withstand the constant physical and verbal onslaught from her mother. But somehow, Robin has always had a knack of getting past her defenses, and by some stroke of luck, she’s always had an interest in letting him.

There is just something different about her, his Regina, she’s not like other girls, and though he expected his infatuation with her to wane, through the years his interest has only taken a further hold of him. Instead of pushing him away, her quick, biting temper only serves to make him more eager to spend time with her; her unyielding stubbornness only makes him more determined to understand her; and her issues with trust only serve to make him more keen on learning how to gain it. She is gloriously flawed and he has zero desire to _fix_ her - for her imperfections are what make her _stunning_ when she might otherwise simply be beautiful, her fiery disposition is what makes her _audacious_ when she instead might just be spirited. Regina is all at once bright-white light and pitch-black darkness, she is the deafening violence of battle and the peaceful silence of meditation, she is the spiciness of a habanero pepper and the sweetness of dulce de leche; she’s a thousand contradictions intricately woven together to create the most incredibly captivating, complex person he has ever met.

He is lucky in that they just _naturally_ fit together - they go together like cheese and toast and they always have. They’ve thoroughly explored the depths of each other’s hearts; they have hurt, they’ve misunderstood, and fought, and loved, and laughed together, and still his curiosity is not sated. Robin knows her all the way through - they’ve grown up together, have experienced trauma, have shared and dreamed and opened up to each other in ways he has certainly never done with anyone else, and he highly doubts she has either. He cannot imagine his life without her.

The line is ringing before he realizes he hit the _send_ button, but he doesn’t regret it. It’s the right decision; he needs to speak with her, needs to find a way to tell her all these things that are in his head, or rather, in his heart. Even if she tells him to bugger-off forever now, she should know that he loves her more deeply, more truly than he’ll ever love another, and he wants to tell her in no uncertain terms that he wants her to come back, that he will do whatever she asks of him in order to make amends for his monumental stupidity. He even has an idea on how to start.

“Hey.”

When she answers, her voice is a bit higher-pitched than usual, and Robin can already tell from just that one word that his call has made her a bit nervous.

“Will Scarlet is afraid of the dark,” he starts off, getting right to it, wanting to make his case as fast as possible. “Well, _technically_ it’s not the dark he’s afraid of, it’s the monsters that lurk in the dark inside of his closet. He’s thirty years old and to this day, he still can’t go to sleep with the closet door open.”

“What?” she’s obviously confused, but he doesn’t stop to explain, just charges on.

“I know, it’s totally mad, innit?” he continues, “My mate John, John Little? He can’t swim. Like, not _at all_. He can’t tread water, he can’t even float, no matter what he does, he sinks like a stone, straight to the bottom. And he’s had swim lessons, proper ones, like four different times, one of which was just last year, and he still can’t do it.”

“Oh, Robin…”

“You already know about Roland’s parentage,” he quickly thinks up another secret of Marian’s, and _shit_ , Marian will kill him if she ever finds out he blabbed about this, “But I bet you didn’t know that Marian’s had her nose done,” he smirks, takes a risk and flirts, “Not everyone just comes with perfect features, you know.”

“What are you doing?” Regina whispers, but he ignores the question. He’s pretty sure she knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Everyone thinks Tuck left the church because he ran off with some woman, and when she died, he became an alcoholic,” he glances around to make sure he’s still alone before he divulges, “But actually –”

“ _Stop it_ ,” she snaps suddenly, cutting him off mid sentence.

“But this one’s really twisted, you’ll never get it on your own,” he tells her, “Tuck –”

“Robin, stop! _Stop!_ ” she commands, and he does, he stops, though he really doesn’t want to.

“Why?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” she huffs. “What the hell are you doing, breaking all your promises?” Regina sounds angry now, “Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he defends, “And I didn’t break my promises.”

“You’re not making any goddamn sense,” she’s flustered, her voice is strained and he feels badly for it - he honestly hadn’t meant to get her quite so riled up.

“Come back to England,” he blurts out, then scrunches his face up as he cringes, knowing that was a mistake.

“Further and further down the rabbit hole we go,” she says dryly. “What did you do, steal some of Marian’s pain medication?”

He ignores her jab. “I just told you all those things, I told you my friend’s deepest secrets, some of which I’ve kept for years, and you know when I give my word I don’t break it, not for anything. But I don’t feel bad about telling you these things, not at all, not for a second, Regina. Do you want to know why?”

“No.”

He can picture her pretty face right now, can imagine the way she probably has her eyes narrowed in annoyance at him, the way her finely arched brows are scrunched, her thick lips pursed, and he’s caught on to the obstinate pout in her tone, which makes him smirk, because that’s progress.

“Well I,” he pauses, draws his courage up and tells her, “Well I’m going to tell you anyway, alright? Because it’s important for you to know, regardless of whether you want to hear it or not.” He waits for her to answer, knows she’s cheesed-off but he’s got to tell her this, she’s got to hear it at least once before she throws the towel in for good.

“Fine,” she grouses, “Get it over with already.”

“I don’t feel bad, because I told _you,_ ” he explains. “If I’d told anyone else I’d feel like I betrayed everyone, but I don’t feel that way telling _you,_ because we’re _us,_ you know? We’re you and me, and we’re connected, we’re _us_. And that’s where I fucked-up before, with the baby news. I wasn’t thinking clearly then, not like I am now, and I was afraid of so many things, but especially of scaring you off when I felt like I’d finally just got you back,” he takes a deep breath, tries and fails to steady the shaking of his voice.

“I wanted to tell you the _right_ way, and I did try, but _Christ_ , when you showed up at the Manor that first day, I was just so happy to see you, and it’d been _five years_ and we had so many things to catch up on. And then there was Daniel, and your mother, and things started moving so fast, and then you found out before I figured out how to tell you, and now we’re in this mess where we’re apart again and… and Regina, I hate it. I really want to be Roland’s dad - this is important and it - it makes me feel like I’m doing something that matters, but damnit, I still want to be with you. I want to be your man, more than anything.”

He runs his hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. “It’s no secret that I’m not a catch. I’m no knight in shining armor, I can’t hang the moon and the stars and all that.” God, he sounds like a blithering idiot, and he urges himself to wrap it up, _fuck,_ he’s such a twit. “I’m nothing more than a petty thief, and now that I have a baby, I know that I shouldn’t ask you to put up with this barmy situation, but I still _want_ to. I’ve shattered your trust in me and you don’t owe me a second chance - I certainly don’t deserve it - but I’d do _anything_ to make this right. _Please_ , even if we can just be friends, that’s more than I could ever hope for. I hate how I’ve hurt you, I never intended to and –”

“I have told you before that this isn’t your fault,” she cuts in, annoyed. “Why do I have to keep repeating myself? Why can’t you just _listen_ to me?”

“I _am_ listening,” he argues, “but what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. I _know_ this is my fault, I _know_ this is because of what I did. ”

“Damnit, Robin,” she growls into the phone, and he cringes, sorry that he’s upset her but they need to have this conversation, they need to get to the bottom of this. “ _This_ is not because you didn’t tell me about Roland, this is because it just, this situation doesn’t work for me. There isn’t… room for me - I don’t fit into your happy little family. I don’t belong there, not with you and Marian and a new baby, and _god,_ it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not - you and I aren’t, we just, we aren’t –”

“Don’t you dare finish that,” he interrupts, frustration building, his free hand clenching on his thigh. “Don’t start making up lies just to push me away.”

She falls silent and he feels a tiny bit victorious.

“Come on, this is _us._ It’s you and me,” he lowers his voice and speaks softly to her, wishes he could see her face, could take her small, well-manicured hand in his, could look into her dark eyes and brush the heavy, jet-black strands of her hair back while he tries to convince her of this next part. “I love you, and I want us to be together. I want _you_ \- Christ, darling - I want you _so much_. You’ve got to know that we’re good together, that after all this time, you’ve got to know that this is _right._ Please don’t tell me I’ve made this all up, that I’m in this all on my own.”

There is a long, torturous beat of silence, but then, to his relief, she quietly relents, “You haven’t… entirely… made it up.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

“Please come back, _come home,_ ” he pleads, not caring if he sounds desperate, because he _is_ desperate. She is his everything, her and Roland, and he feels like he’ll die if he loses her now. “This is where you belong. Come home, and give us a chance. I know it’s difficult, and confusing, and messy, but all I’m asking is for us to try it out _._ It’s not going to be perfect, but we don’t need perfect, do we? I know I certainly don’t. I just need _you._ ”

“I can’t believe that you, of all people, are doing this, that you’re putting this kind of pressure on me,” her voice is raspy through the phone, and he struggles to hear her - she’s muffled and difficult to understand. “This isn’t fair.”

He can’t tell if she sounds that way because she’s emotional and trying to hide it, or because she’s furiously angry with him, or if it’s something else entirely, but her continued resistance has him nearly insane with nervousness. The fact that she hasn’t returned any of his declarations of love and devotion have him full-on vibrating with anxiety, have him bouncing his legs and racking his brain for something, _anything_ to say to make her believe that what he says is true.

“I would come to you in one second if I could,” he tries, “but with my criminal record, the States won’t let me in. Believe me, I’ve tried. But I’ll do anything, whatever it takes to bring you here.” It’s a pledge, a vow - he will swim across the Atlantic and back if he has to. “You can stay with me, or wherever you want - I’ll help you find a place - and a job, something brilliant, something you really love. You won’t have to stress over anything - I’ll help you make a life here, a life that’s whatever you want it to be, and I’ll take care of you, I _promise_. I give you my word, Regina. _Please._ ”

“Robin, don’t,” she makes a high-pitched sound that is definitely a sob, but he keeps going, trying like hell to convince her to give them a chance.

“I’ll do _anything_ to make you happy,” he continues, “I was holding my son tonight and I just kept looking over at Marian and wishing she was you, wishing that today it was you and me and _our_ boy and –”

“Stop, stop it, _please_. _Please stop,_ ” she begs, then she’s openly crying into the phone, and he cuts himself off, feeling like a right bastard for making her so upset when all he was trying to do was tell her how much he loves her.

A few seconds pass and Robin sits helplessly on the other end of the line, unable to comfort or reassure her, unable to do anything but listen while she falls apart. He can hear how much she’s hurting, and that same hurt washes through him, makes his head spin, makes him sick to his stomach. He doesn’t know how to fix this new damage he’s done, doesn’t know how much worse he’s just made the situation, and the next thing he knows, he’s pleading, “Don’t cry. _Christ,_ sweetheart, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry,” while he cries right along with her.

When she finally is able to speak, her voice is rough, but surprisingly soft. “We can’t keep doing this, it’s too hard.”

“We don’t have to,” he gives it one last shot. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“No, no it doesn’t.”

A beat of silence passes between them, then another, and the longer the quietude stretches, the more dread fills his gut.

“You’re not coming, are you?” his temples throb and his chest aches - he already knows her answer.

“I can’t.”

“But… but _why?_ ” he doesn’t mean for it to come out quite as loudly, quite as full of anguish as it does, but he just doesn’t understand.

She sighs into the phone, then tells him, “Because you have worked so hard to rebuild your life, to make something of yourself and to be a part of a real family, and you have everything you need right in front of you, if you’d just open your eyes and accept it. I refuse to get in the middle of that –”

“Marian and I are _not_ like that,” he nearly shouts, then tries like hell to calm his temper, growls, “Regina, _I’m in love with you_ , Marian is like family, like a sister.”

“Right now that might be true, but things change, Robin, and you know what? Even if they don’t, I don’t want to be the third wheel, and at best, that’s what I’m always going to be in this situation, which just, it’s not going to work for me.”

“You could never be just a third wheel,” he argues, “You’re my best friend, my whole world, you’re –”

“I’m not. Roland is your priority, as he should be, and then his mother, and then _you_ , because you’re a father now, you’re part of a family and you have to start taking care of yourself. These are just the facts.”

Robin curses and rubs his forehead, unable to come up with a good argument to that, because she’s right. He has to be a father first - from today on, his son will always be his number one priority.

Regina continues, sounding defeated, sounding terribly sad. “You know, since my father died, I haven’t exactly had a real family. My mother is, well, you know how she is now, but I remember what it was like when my dad was still alive, and how good it felt to be loved by him. I remember how happy we all were, and I know it’s selfish, but someday, I just, I want to know what it feels like to have my own family, to be an integral member of one, and you,” she pauses to sniff, “you aren’t in a position to give me that.”

“Yes I am,” he insists, tries to tell her _exactly_ how important she is to him, how he will do everything in his power to give her _all_ of that, but he can’t get the words out, because she immediately argues, “No you’re not,” and he loses his temper.

“So that’s it, then? You won’t even give me a shot at loving you before you’ve decided I’m a failure at it? Nothing I’ve said or done all these years matters?”

She huffs annoyedly into the phone as if he’s the one being thick. “If you’d just slow down and listen, if you would give it some thought, you’d see that this is for the best. I’m not even right for you anyway, Robin, you’re not using your head –”

“Damn right. I’m using my heart, and you ought to try it sometime,” he bites off, and she groans in irritation.

“This is ridiculous.”

“It’s _not_ ,” he contends, “Just tell me what I’ve got to do to change your mind, to get you to roll the dice with me.” It’s a stretch, but he tries, “What, have I got to dare you into it?”

He can practically hear her eye-roll when she drawls, “Robin, we aren’t kids anymore, and we have to start acting like it.”

“There’s a big difference between acting childish and going out on a limb for something you believe in,” he snaps.

“That’s not, you know that this, it’s not–” she cuts herself off, growls into the phone, then changes course and hurries out, “Going in circles isn’t helping, and, and, you know what? I’m not doing this anymore.”

Robin pounds his fist on his thigh, knowing he’s losing the war, that she’s getting flustered and not getting it, she’s pulling away and nothing he is doing is helping. He is so hurt, so frustrated and angry that she won’t believe him, that she won’t believe in _them_. He knows he’s not much, but he would give her everything he has for just a chance to make her happy.

“Why is it you’re the only one who gets to decide?” he gripes, “That it doesn’t matter what I think, or what I want, I just have to sit here like a loaf and hope you’ll make the right choice?”

“Yeah,” the sarcasm is thick in her tone, “That’s exactly how this works. You never get a say in anything, it’s all me, all my choices that led us here.”

“This is shit,” he says petulantly, then grumbles, more to himself than to her, “I thought that you loved me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Innit?” he scowls, rubs his forehead and fights the angry tears that are threatening to spill. “I’d do _anything_ for you. _Anything_. But you haven’t got any faith in me, you won’t even let me have a go at it.”

There is a pause where he can hear her unsteady breaths on the other end of the line, and he has the urge to apologize. He hasn’t meant to be so pushy, he just wants to love her, but she’s being so obstinate, she hasn’t said anything close to an, _I love you_ , and while he knows he’s got work to do to earn back her trust, he doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve _this_.

Suddenly it occurs to him that perhaps he just plain doesn’t deserve _her_ , and maybe that’s what she’s been trying to tell him all along. Maybe he’s just been a prat who hasn’t been getting the message.

“I’m not good enough for you,” he says quietly, “That’s it, yeah?”

“What? No, of course not!”

“You can say it,” he shrugs, accepts it for the truth that it is and starts nodding to himself, the pieces finally sliding into place.

His relationship with Regina has always felt like a fairytale (the princess and the pauper, perhaps), or maybe a dream, and that’s probably because it _was_. It was never reality, never something that could actually work.

“I’ve always known my place, you know, that you were out of my league. I dunno where my head was at, thinking you’d be interested in making something work for real,” he bats the phone against the side of his head in frustration while he thinks. “You’re right though, you deserve better, some white-collar bloke who’ll give you all the things you deserve - Daniel 2.0, or at least someone with half a brain this time, I hope,” he tries to laugh and utterly fails at it. “Sorry I was trying to pressure you into this, it was wrong of me. If we’re going to be together, it should be because we want to be, not because I’ve begged it of you, or made you feel guilty, or pushed you into it. I just, _fuck,_ I just wish you’d be honest with me, ‘cause I feel like a right idiot, falling all over myself, telling you how I’d do anything for you and all that, when you’re not even interested. You must think I’m bloody pathetic.”

“Robin, no, it’s not like that,” she argues softly, her voice higher pitched than usual, a tremor lacing her words, “You _know_ it’s not, it’s _never_ been like that with us.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He pulls the phone away and stares dejectedly at it for several seconds, considers flipping it closed, then puts it back up to his ear just as she’s finishing a sentence that ends in, “... so much, more than anything, please tell me you know that.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I uh, I dropped my phone, didn’t catch any of what you just said.”

There’s a moment of charged silence before she mutters, “Nevermind.”

He sighs despondently, and for the millionth time, he curses his upbringing and the terrible adolescent choices that will always make him subpar. Since the day he met her, all Robin has ever wanted is to be good enough for Regina Mills, but he never will be. He’ll never, _ever_ be at her level, and he was a fool to think he could be.

“I dunno what else to say,” he mutters. “You know how I feel about you though, and that’s not likely to change. But I suppose I have to agree with you that this just isn’t going to work out, so there’s no sense in trying to change your mind.”

He can hear that she’s crying again, but he tries to stay strong and doesn’t soothe her this time. He’s admittedly confused as to why she seems so upset when she’s getting exactly what she wanted, when he’s conceding what she’s been arguing for so adamantly this entire conversation. Then he has a flash of anger - how come she gets to go wrenching his guts out with her soft whimpers and shuddery little breaths when it’s _her_ who’s hurting _him_ this time? How come she gets to stomp all over his heart _and_ his pride, rip it to pieces, set it aflame and walk away, and he’s the one feeling like a total fuck-up? And she had the nerve to accuse _him_ of being unfair?

“Right then,” he nods, swallows thickly and says, “I love you, and I’m sorry I don’t measure up. I honestly hope you find someone who does.”

“No,” she rasps, then softer, almost so he can’t hear, “ _No, Robin, no._ ”

He’s certain his desperate brain has made it up - she has absolutely no reason to protest, not now that he’s in agreement with her. So before his mind can play more tricks on him, he uses the last ounce of courage he has, and he hangs up.

* * *

November is always a busy month for the Fitzwalter Party Planners. The holiday season is in full swing, their calendar having been booked with all sorts of events to plan, from Halloween all the way up through the New Year. As a new father, this year is particularly taxing, and though Robin does his best at learning to balance his hectic work schedule with the sleepless nights he and Marian trade taking care of their son, it isn’t long before they’re both running on fumes. Roland is growing like a weed though, is a happy and healthy little chap, and his boy keeps them thoroughly preoccupied, so that the days fly by in a blur of baby giggles, diaper changes, and a mountain of challenging and exciting experiences that only being a new parent can offer.

It’s been a harder adjustment than Robin expected, though. He and Marian have always been close friends, but becoming parents has entirely changed their relationship, and over the past four months, they’ve experienced their fair share of struggles.

They’ve fought heatedly over new boundaries that seemed to spring up overnight - he’ll never forget their blow-up over whose travel mug belonged to whom, which unfortunately resulted in both of their mugs being broken when Marian chucked them at him from clear across the kitchen. They’ve argued until they were both red-faced and slamming doors over whose turn it was to wash the unending piles of bibs, onesies, wash rags, and teeny-tiny socks that their boy goes through - who knew one little person could dirty so many outfits in one day? There have been complete communication breakdowns that he and Marian have had to navigate, which developed, no doubt, due to the stress and fatigue of handling a newborn. And how he’s never learned to have an entirely coherent conversation about the color of his son’s bowel movements at three in the morning, and then been able to get up and be functional at six for the next feeding, he’ll never understand.

There’s been quite a shift in privacy too, one that just couldn’t be avoided with the new baby. He’s had to see things, learn things about Marian that he never particularly cared to, but for the sake of being a good co-parent, he’s done his best to push past his discomfort. He’s had to remind himself on multiple occasions that it’s alright that he now knows _way_ more about her breasts and her… lady parts… than he’s ever known about another woman, because in their case, it’s truly been nothing more than a necessity. Roland came early and he came too quick, so she’s had some complications, suffered through two infections and has dealt with multiple issues with breastfeeding. Robin’s been trying to be supportive however he can, because he feels badly - it’s not like he can help with much of it, especially the breastfeeding - so he pitches in by Googling things for her, by accompanying her to her doctor’s appointments when she asks, and by making sure he pays rapt attention when she tells him she needs something. Marian’s his friend and he’s always cared about her, but now even more importantly, she’s Roland’s mum, and he figures he ought to do whatever he can to make sure his son has two healthy parents.

While they’ve had their challenges and it’s been quite a lot of change, there’s also been a deep level of trust that has come from living together like this, that, despite the lack of any romance, makes Robin feel like they truly are a little family. Every day they’re learning, adjusting, partnering and trying their best, and when Robin tucks their son in at night he can’t help but smile at how lucky he is to have such a good friend in Marian, right by his side for all of it.

There are many benefits to being a part of a family like this that Robin never expected, but most of all, he is exceedingly thankful for her parents. Not only are they understanding and patient with him when he’s been exhausted at work, but on the rare occasion that both he and Marian have somewhere that they can’t take their son, her parents always seem almost _giddy_ to lend a hand. They’re wonderful grandparents, they even try to give them a night off together once in awhile so Robin and Marian can make an attempt at a social life, though he has suspicions they’re trying to encourage a bit of a romance between them. There’s no way in hell that’s happening, but Robin is more than happy to play designated driver for Marian and her friends, because he knows Marian appreciates a night out, even _needs_ it, really. She’s always been a social butterfly, and it’s good for her extraverted soul to go out and revel with all of her friends. It’s how she gets rid of stress, how she re-energizes, and Robin understands how important it is for them to take care of themselves now that they’re parents, so he always encourages her to take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself.

But Robin isn’t like that at all. He’s never been one for crowds or large groups, his circle has always been small - mostly him, Will, and John. It’s going on a year now that Will’s been missing, (and good riddance, as far as Robin’s concerned,) and since he sees John everyday at work, there isn’t much to pull his interest away from taking care of his boy.

He thought he had a friend in Regina, too, had even dared to hope for something more, but that was rather short-lived. Since their disastrous phone call in July, they’ve only had one other exchange, in early October, when she’d left him a voicemail that said she’d gotten a job interview in London, and if he wasn’t too busy, she hoped to see him. He’d been confused by her call but disappointed that he couldn’t make it work - both Marian and Roland had been sick, and he’d been swamped at work with all the upcoming Halloween parties. When he finally got around to calling her back, he’d been halfway through leaving her a message when Roland slipped into the most pathetic little coughing fit ever, and in order to tend to his son, he’d hung up so quickly that he had entirely forgotten to finish his message. It wasn’t until hours later that he realized he’d only left her half a reason for why he couldn’t make the time to see her, and by then it had been way too late to call her back without looking like a cack-handed fool. So he’d chickened out and just… hadn’t.

Robin never heard from her again after that, so he’s got no idea if she got the job or not, or if she thinks he blew her off, or that he just up and died in the middle of the call. But now so much time has gone by that he feels too awkward to call and explain. And even if he did, he hasn’t a clue what he’d say to her, not after all the things that were said, and all the things that she very clearly, very stubbornly did _not say_ to him _,_ back in July.

It aggravates him that his history with Regina doesn’t seem to matter to her, that all their ups and downs, their fights and make-ups, their hours upon hours of intimate conversation, and all those loving, gentle touches have apparently amounted to nothing. He doesn’t understand how she can always seem to cut ties and walk away so freely when he feels trapped, feels completely crippled under the mountain of sweet memories and tumultuous emotions that come crashing down on him every time she fades into the distance. He doesn’t get how it’s possible for them to have such opposite reactions, and when he gets in a _real_ mood - when his dander’s up and that old chip on his shoulder is really bothering him - he wonders if their relationship _ever_ meant anything to her. She told him once that it wasn’t a joke to her, but he never thought to ask her just _how_ serious she was about it, and now he feels like an idiot for assuming she fell in love with him too.

He’s starting to think that she was right when she tried to cut ties last December. In the past for Robin, it always hurt like hell when they were apart, so when months and _years_ of no contact ticked by, he’d found ways to cope. Sometimes he’d try to convince himself that none of it had ever happened. He’d curl up on the old bench seat of his truck and close his eyes tight, and when he put his mind to it, he could pretend for a little while that he never actually met Regina Mills, that everything that happened between them was all just a figment of his overactive imagination.

He’d tell himself that there was no way he’d ever gotten the courage to say hello to her, let alone taken her into the cigar lounge; there was no way she’d have ever invited him into bed with her, no way she would press her lips to his and make that quiet little _mmm_ when they kiss. No, there was absolutely no way she’d come back to Gardener Manor year after year and continue to smile at him in that way that only she does, with her caramel-colored eyes all soft, and her perfect, full red lips curved upward _just so_ in that teasing smile, and she’d never put her arms around his neck to whisper in his ear _how good he makes her feel_. He’d convince himself there was no way any of that could be real - no, he’s not that lucky - and when he set his mind to it, he could give his aching heart some relief from the fact that it was, and that he’d lost it.

And other times, when things were really bad - when he was locked up, or he didn’t have anywhere to live, or his bank account was overdrafted and he couldn’t afford to eat for a few days - he’d find comfort by convincing himself that she had found long-lasting happiness.

He could tell himself that she’d started a brilliant career, and that she’d made off with some handsome, Oxbridge genius who really appreciated her, some first-rate bloke who was capable of covering her in diamonds and pearls, and who never shied away from showering her with all the praise and support she deserves. He’d imagine her wearing a ridiculously expensive wedding dress that fit her _just_ right, and picture how brightly she’d smile when she was in it; how she’d laugh, and dance, and be _so_ in love with whoever-he-was, and that would make Robin’s heart feel a bit lighter. He’d think about her buying some gorgeous, big white house and filling it with dark-haired children, how she’d try not to laugh on the rare occasion she scolded them for being unruly, and how she’d tuck them in at night with cuddles and kisses, just before her man did her right. Thinking about Regina like that always made him feel better, just imagining how happy she was got him through a lot of dark nights when he was still trying to “save” Will and he wasn’t sure he’d live to see daylight.

But he can’t revert to his old coping methods now, can’t forget her and can’t even pretend it never happened - not with these sporadic bits of contact between them, reminding him that he blew it, that even though he humiliatingly confessed his devotion to her, that he made one hell of an argument for how he’d spend every minute making it up to her, she won’t even consider giving him a second chance. He knows that he broke her trust, understands how he hurt her and the damage he did, but _Christ_ , shouldn’t his intentions at least count for something? He never meant to hurt her, he was desperately trying to do the opposite, actually, and he’s learned from his mistakes. He told her he’d do anything for her and he had meant it - but Regina? She wouldn’t even think it over - she just turned her back on him, on _them,_ and that just seems really fucking unfair.

With each passing day he’s starting to feel this thin thread of anger that’s constantly running through his veins, pooling behind his eyes, putting pressure on his skull that throbs, and throbs, and _throbs_ , causing him to squint and morphing his expression into an involuntary scowl any time he’s not looking at Roland. The more he thinks about the situation the more his frustration builds, and though he could never find it in him to hate her, he _is_ starting to think she’s a bit of a brat. It’s not that he could offer her the world or anything, but fuck, he knows - all the way down to his soul - that he’d have treated her right. He’d have been so bloody good to her, he’d have done any and everything to make her happy. The fact that she knows that and won’t take the risk because she’s too scared to even _try_ something outside of her perfect, fancy-pants world of opportunities is downright offensive.

He hates himself for feeling like this, for being hung up on Regina months and months after her rejection. It’s just difficult to accept that she’s gone when there were years of his life that to him, she was every ray of dazzling sunshine, every twinkle of glittering starlight that lit up his pathetic, dismal little world. _She_ was the one who showed him that he was not only worth something, but that he could be something _more_ , and he’s certain he’d be in jail, on drugs, or dead if it wasn’t for her. Regina was the incandescent representation of everything that had ever been good in his life - he had friends but no one who honestly believed in and supported him like she did - and the loss of her friendship, when so many others have thrown him out, or turned their backs, or simply not considered him worth keeping, stings all the way to his soul.

It doesn’t really matter how he feels though, and it doesn’t matter if it’s fair. It is what it is - he’s done everything he could to change her mind, and she still doesn’t want him.

He’s not good enough for her.

Marian has tried every way possible to console him, even tried to set him up with a friend of hers once, but he shut her down so firmly that he knows for a fact she won’t try it again. He’s glad for it, truly, because he’s still too angry, too confused and hurt over the death of his relationship with Regina to even think of seeing someone else. He’s not sure he’ll ever have much use for a new romance, actually - he can’t see the point of it when he’s pretty sure he already had the perfect one.

And so what if it only lasted a little while? That certainly doesn’t make it any less epic.

He tries to look on the bright side, reminds himself that he’s lucky to have had what they had. He even tries to convince himself that he should be thankful, because he’ll never have to worry about meeting _the one._ He’s already done it - and boy, what a disaster that turned out to be.

Beneath the anger, disappointment, and self-loathing that always comes with his failures, Robin is truly crushed over the situation, and after so many months of being unable to pull himself out of this state of despair, he’s not sure he’ll ever recover. He knows himself - knows he’s never going to open up like this again - and because of that, he’s never going to find someone who makes him feel as loved, and as valued, and as unbroken as the girl who used to cuddle him for hours when he was cold, who used to kiss away the pain when he was hurt, who used to protectively write her name all over him as if he wasn’t completely in love with her from the second they met when they were seventeen.

No.

However broken, his heart is Still the Property of Regina Mills, and it is not for sale.

John has lured him out tonight, a rarity for sure, but he’s been promising his mate that they’d go for a pint somewhere other than Tuck’s since his latest girl chucked him for none other than Keith-sodding-Badgley, who seems to take particular joy in rubbing John’s nose in it at every opportunity. It’s a Thursday, and they’ve got multiple parties to set up for on Friday and Saturday, so they made a trip down to the Fitzgerald’s warehouse in Holloway with the work truck to procure the extra tables and chairs needed for the events. Before they left, Robin had explained John’s situation to Marian, and with his sincere vow that they’d be back by noon the next day with only moderate hangovers, she’d given her blessing for them to make a guy’s night of it. It wasn’t hard to find a decent pub, and at first Robin had been having a fine time, but then they met a group of girls who invited them to go clubbing. He wanted nothing to do with that, but then John accused him of being a bad wingman, and well, bro-code essentially demanded that he go along with it. He might not be interested in dating anyone, but he certainly had no intentions of cock-blocking his best mate, especially when John got dumped for one of the biggest knobheads in town.

The club definitely isn’t his scene though. There’s a lot to be annoyed by, from the frantic, disco beats the DJ is spinning (remixing songs he’s got absolutely no business remixing), to the epilepsy-inducing orange and yellow flashing lights that keep blinding him, to the incredibly overpriced alcohol, and the way he has to keep shifting awkwardly away because apparently now that they’re clubbing, these women seem to think it’s alright to put their hands all over him. It doesn’t help that he sort of hates clubs anyway, because he was never privy to any kind of dance lessons. He never so much as had cable television when he was growing up, his family was much too poor for that, so he couldn’t even watch MTV to get an idea of what he was supposed to be doing on the dance floor, and now as an adult, he looks like a complete tosser on the rare occasion he is drunk enough to be dragged out there, which he has zero intentions of being tonight _._

About the time one of the girls gets bold enough to grab two handfuls of his arse, his patience runs clean out, so he throws back the rest of his whiskey and without even attempting to get John’s attention - _he’s_ happily sandwiched between two more of the hellions - Robin makes a break for the side door of the club. There’s a sign indicating a smoker’s patio through there, and aside from the occasional cigar he doesn’t partake, but he needs some air, needs to get away from the congested, high energy atmosphere that’s making his skin crawl just thinking about what those girls might try next. It’s not that they’re munters or anything, it’s just that he’s not here to get off with someone, he doesn’t even want to _be_ here, and he’s only doing this because John wanted to. If it were up to him he’d be at home, cuddled up with his four-month old son.

He pushes through the heavy metal door and shrugs into his jean jacket, taking care to flip up the sherpa-lined collar but not bothering with the zip, even though it’s gotten quite cold tonight. The patio is huge - it runs almost the length of the side of the building and is encased by a little iron gate that’s got white lights wrapped around it, giving the whole place a warm, welcoming glow. There are a ton of people hanging out in spite of the frigid temperature, and most are huddled up into groups, laughing and chatting loudly as they puff little white clouds of smoke, which hover over them and slowly drift upward to mix with others to form a thin, tobacco-scented haze over the entire crowd. He finds it quite nice, actually - the bass from the music inside bleeds through the door and the throbbing, muffled, steady drum is almost like the thump of a heartbeat. It’s calming, and for the first time since he arrived at the club, Robin is able to take a few deep breaths and let his guard down.

He finds a spot against the wall about halfway down - hidden from the door so in case those girls come looking for him, they won’t immediately see him - and takes out his phone. He spends a few minutes making sure he hasn’t missed any calls or texts from Marian and notices it’s getting late, nearly two in the morning now, and he hopes John’s about ready to call it a night. Robin doesn’t get much sleep these days due to Roland’s feeding schedule, and he swears if John tells him he’s bringing one of those girls back to the hotel, he’s going to draw the line at having to sleep in the truck.

“Robin?”

He glances up. He could swear he heard someone call his name, but when he doesn’t immediately see anyone looking in his direction, he shrugs it off and goes back to his phone.

“ _Robin Locksley_.”

This time he’s certain - he absolutely heard his name, and _Christ_ , he must really be tired, because he could swear it sounded just like…

He sees Regina through the crowd then, standing with a group of people, a cigarette between her fingers, her beautiful brown eyes wide, thick red lips parted, a little puff of smoke lacing the breath that slips out in apparent disbelief.

Their eyes connect, then the cigarette falls from her hand and she starts moving toward him, her dark head popping up here and there, seeking him out as she makes her way through the crowd, and after a moment of shock, he’s suddenly moving toward her, too. His brain starts screaming her name, starts repeating those three syllables on a deafening loop, and his hands are frantically stuffing his phone in his pocket, then reaching out to shuffle people out of his way as he hurriedly strides toward her. He feels his feet start moving faster and faster but he has no control over it - he’s operating on pure adrenaline - and when the crowd suddenly parts and there is no one between them, he just loses it and full-out sprints the last few steps. To his immense relief, Regina launches herself at him with just as much enthusiasm - her arms fly up to wrap around his shoulders and he secures his around her back, then he buries his face against the side of her neck and hugs her to him as tightly as possible.

Home. She feels like home.

“What’re you doing here?” she gasps, her fingers gripping the collar of his jacket and urging him closer, _closer._ “How is this possible?”

He melts against her, murmurs, “Dunno,” feeling dazed and nuzzling into her, breathing the scent of her warm, soft skin and using every ounce of self-restraint he has to resist pressing kisses to her. “Don’t care.”

 _Good god,_ he’s missed her. He has this terrible urge to tell her that, to confess how he’s mourned the loss of every single thing about her for every second they’ve been apart, but he shouldn’t, he _can’t,_ because even he recognizes how pathetic that would be. Besides, he knows she’ll tell him that they _can’t do this_ , that _it’s wrong_ , and he won’t risk ruining this moment. He doesn’t know how much longer it’s going to last but he doubts it’ll be much, and he won’t fuck it up, not when he’s certain he’s just stumbled into paradise _._

Her face is tilted into his, her cheek pressed against his temple, lips right at his ear when, out of bloody nowhere, she breathes, “God, Robin, I missed you so much.”

A fire inside of his chest roars to life, rushes hot through his veins, rings his ears and causes his fingers to curl into the rich leather of her jacket as he gathers her impossibly closer. He inhales deep, brings his mouth to her neck and touches his lips to the soft, smooth skin there - it’s not a kiss, he won’t do that - he promises himself he won’t - but he lets his lips rest against her, because she just told him she _missed_ him, and if he lived in a world where he was somehow allowed to miss her too, this is where his lips would belong.

She runs her fingers up into his hair, threads them through the soft strands, massages lightly and scratches at his scalp all while she continues to hold him close to her, and Robin simply closes his eyes, sighs out a hot breath against her neck and allows himself to fall into rapture. Her hands feel so good on him, her embrace feels so comforting, especially when she seems utterly content to be in his arms, too. She nuzzles her cheek against his and takes a moment to rub the thick cords of tendon and muscle at the back of his neck, then slowly brings her fingers around to cup his face, where she guides his head up until their foreheads are pressed together. Her fingers start to move faster then, start skating along the rough scruff of his beard, tracing the cut of his jawline, stroking up and down the sides of his neck and the column of his throat, until her hands are shaking and almost frantic in her movements. He allows it, is helpless to stop her and can’t swear that he would, even if he could. She _affects_ him too much, he can’t make thoughts when she’s this close. The heat and moisture made from the quick little puffs of her breath against his lips are teasing him, tempting him, making his mouth water, his throat feel tight and his tongue restless. Her eyes are closed, and he can feel the furrow of her brow where it’s pressed against his - he doesn’t have a clue what she’s thinking but he can tell that she’s concentrating hard - and if he’s being really honest, he’d probably stand here til morning if he had any indication that it might soothe whatever is worrying her.

They’re so close that it’s a bit of a challenge to get a good look at her but he tries anyway, partially because he can’t believe she’s in his arms right now, and partially because she’s just so fit that he can’t help it.

Her makeup is intense tonight, her eyes heavily lined, the shadow dark, her lips painted this deep red that makes them look positively _biteable._ She’s got her thick, jet black hair parted to one side and straightened, just brushing the tops of her shoulders, large, gold hoop earrings dangling from her ears, and she’s wearing a tight red, spaghetti-strap tank top paired with a _very_ short, black pleated skirt. She’s topped it all off with black, knee-high, boots, and when he runs his eyes over her he notices that there’s a solid two inches of her perfect, toned stomach showing, and that’s got him biting on his bottom lip in pure lust, his fingers curling into her small frame just a bit, longing to run across her smooth, golden skin. It’s a blessing now that he hadn’t been able to zip his coat, because with her pressed up against him like this in the cold air, he can easily feel the peaked tips of her nipples against his chest, and when he skates his hands up under the little leather jacket she’s wearing, he confirms that she’s not wearing a bra. He nearly groans with the hot streak of desire that zings through him at that discovery - _Christ -_ and then he notices that she’s got glitter on her cheeks, and a bit on her neck, _and_ her collarbone, _and_ her sternum, and, and _fuck_ , when his eyes dare to fall further he catches a little shimmer on the tops of her tits, too, and all the breath leaves his lungs in one slow _whoosh._

He’d give anything to be able to lick that body glitter off of her. To slow… slow… _slowly_ drag his tongue across her skin, to suck along the shimmery path that she’s painted herself with.

Robin tugs her close and wraps one arm around her back, brings the other up and threads it into her hair, unable to resist touching the soft, thick strands he’s always been so fond of. Her hands are still running all over him, up and down his chest then curving over his shoulders, her eyes open now, serious and intense.

“I’m sorry.” She’s looking at the buttons on the front of his navy blue Henley when she says it, her brow pinched, voice low and strained. “I’m so sorry.”

He feels like his heart has stopped. He can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t do _anything,_ so for a moment, he just goes very, very still.

But then she bites her lip and squints, looks like she’s about to cry, and he feels that old familiar jolt of protectiveness flair in him. He can’t stop from slipping into old habits, from wanting to comfort her, and he ducks his head down to catch her eyes. It’s a mistake - he’s forgotten how pretty they are, hasn’t been able to study the exquisite almond shape or count the enchanting golden flecks of her irises in ages, and it trips him up. He has to take a breath to calm his erratic heartbeat before he continues, shifts his hands to cup her cheeks, shakes his head in confusion and asks, “Whatever for?”

She locks eyes with him then, her expression full of guilt. “For… for everything.”

He doesn’t know what she means exactly - there are an infinite number of ways he could take that - and his tongue feels thick, there’s a lump in his throat that prevents him from saying anything, from asking her. Her apology makes him nervous, makes his whole body tight with anxiety, and he doesn’t know how to respond.

There’s a light breeze tonight that chooses that second to blow a few strands of hair into her face, and Robin uses it as a welcome distraction. He gently reaches up and brushes the rogue strands off of her forehead, then indulges himself a bit, combs his fingers through her silky locks, curling his fingers around her ear before sliding underneath to settle on the side of her neck, where he keeps it, simply because she lets him.

For a long moment, her dark eyes search his, then her hands come up to encircle his wrists in a surprisingly tight grip. He expects her to pull his hands away, to step back and say this is a mistake, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just holds him steady and sort of cuddles her face against his palms, letting her eyes drift closed as if she’s immensely enjoying the feeling of his hands on her. It’s strange to him that she is so welcoming of his touch after she so firmly closed that door, and things get even stranger when he sweetly strokes his thumbs across her cheeks, because she reopens her eyes and gives him this _look_ as she slowly blinks up at him through her long, thick lashes, and oh - _oh fuck -_ he’s in trouble.

He knows this look. He’s been mesmerized by it before.

She’s going to kiss him.

He knows it well before her hands start skating up his forearms, can read it clearly in the way her eyes have gone all hot and hyper-focused, in the way she’s licking her lips in preparation, the way her chest is rising and falling, faster, _faster_. Her chocolate eyes flick down to his lips, then back up, and his stomach flips, his abs clench with excitement. Robin wets his lips too, his heart races with anticipation, and he drops one hand to her hip in an attempt to steady himself. His head is spinning with confusion but he’s dying to feel her soft, full lips pressed up against his, and _blimey,_ he’s never wanted to _be_ kissed by anyone so badly in his whole life. If there is a kiss that has the potential to ease the crippling hurt, to soothe the heartache he’s experienced over the last eleven months, it will surely come from her _,_ and when her hands reach the lapels of his coat and she tugs him to her, finally connecting their lips, it’s exactly that thought that has his mouth opening in perfect sync with hers.

 _Christ,_ how he’s missed her.

Her tongue is immediately in his mouth, hot and slick and undeniably welcome, her lips pulling forcefully, sucking intently on his bottom lip, her teeth sinking in just a little. He reciprocates with enthusiasm, explores by running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, and she tastes just like he remembers, the combination of lipstick, apple martinis, and a hint of smoke making his breath catch. Her lips are _so soft,_ full and pliant against his, and without hesitation she presses her body to him, winds her arms up around his neck and moans quietly while they trade desperate, deep kisses that go on, and on, and on.

He forgets that they’re not alone, that they’re surrounded by dozens of strangers who are probably getting more uncomfortable by the second, but he can’t find it in him to care. He can’t stop himself from stroking his hands over her shoulders, from running them down the long lines of her back to wrap around the round curves of her hips. Regina’s fingers scratch teasingly through his hair, and when their lips separate for a brief second, she breathes, _“God, Robin,_ ” then she rolls her hips against him and nips at his lips, cups his cheek and slips her tongue back into his mouth, and poor Robin, his brain sort of short circuits.

Behind her, he hears someone calling her name, but she pays them no attention, and he’s so confused, so unsure and now, so bloody turned on that he’s got no idea what to do, so he just follows her lead. She’s stroking her fingers up and down his neck, keeps dipping them under his collar like she can’t get enough skin on skin - _and Christ, neither can he_ \- so he slips his fingers under the hem of her shirt. He runs the tips of them along her bare back, circles around and swirls his thumbs over her hip bones, then slowly slides up, up, up until he can feel the curve of her ribs. She inhales sharply right against his lips, steals the breath from his mouth and kisses him with more fervor, then one of her hands dives down the collar of his shirt and the sharp points of her nails dig into his shoulder. He breaks their kiss to bite back a moan and squeezes her closer, and - _fuck -_ now she’s kissing his jaw, his cheek, his chin, and - _shit_ \- he’s quickly losing his grip on reality. His trousers are already too tight to be appropriate and his hands are up her shirt, and if she keeps going he’s not sure he can be trusted to make good decisions. So, in a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control, he reclaims her mouth and gives her a long, drawn out kiss that’s literally got her knees buckling as he teases her tongue and sucks hard on her lips.

Again, he hears Regina’s name being called, but Regina steadfastly ignores her friend. When the girl continues to call out to her though, Regina starts pushing on Robin’s chest, still kissing him but directing him further away from the voice, and he goes willingly, not wanting to be interrupted either.

“It’s freezing,” she murmurs between kisses, trailing her hands down to rest her palms flat against his abs, pressing lightly and walking him backward in the direction of the door that leads inside. “Wanna go warm up?”

Robin ducks his head and starts trailing open-mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw, then lowly groans his protest in her ear. “How about I give you my jacket?” he suggests, fearing that a pause in their momentum might prevent them from starting up again. He sucks hotly on the side of her neck, strokes his large hand down the other side and scrapes his teeth against her soft, lightly perfumed skin, “I don’t really fancy the idea of stopping right now.”

He’s quite disappointed when she pulls back from him, but then her hands slide down and her fingers curl over his waistband. There is a hot little smirk playing on her lips when she jerks him toward her by the belt and rasps seductively, “Who said anything about stopping?”

They head back inside and ditch their jackets with some friend of hers she doesn’t bother to introduce him to, and who he doesn’t bother to even look twice at. He thinks that they should probably talk, that they should take a few minutes and at least go over what the hell is happening, but then she’s pulling him toward the overcrowded dance floor, both of her fine-boned hands confidently wrapped around one of his, her hips already swaying to the beat, and he gets distracted. He nearly goes along with her, is too caught up admiring the way her shapely arse moves in that miniskirt to realize what’s about to happen, when - thank god - at the last second common sense sweeps over him and pure panic locks up his knees, bringing him to a dead stop.

He _really_ can’t dance - not _at all_ \- and he’s about to look like a fucking twit in front of her. Robin can’t pretend for a second that his awkward shuffling is going to look sexy - it’s not even going to be funny - no, it’s going to be bloody _pathetic._ He has no idea what she’s up to with telling him how she misses him, how she’s sorry, and then kissing the life out of him - especially when she’s the one who keeps putting a knife in the heart of their relationship - but he knows one thing. If she sees him trying to dance, she’s going to laugh him right out of the club, and it’s going to ruin his chances of figuring out what’s going on. So he’s got to find a way out of this, and he’s got to do it fast.

Regina stops at the edge of the dance floor when she feels his resistance, turns and raises her finely arched eyebrows at him in a questioning glance. He still doesn’t have an excuse made up yet though, so he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head like a sodding half-wit and curls his fingers tighter around hers. When he offers no explanation, her eyes scan his face, then she closes the distance between them and goes up on her tip-toes to speak in his ear.

“Dance with me?”

Her breath against his neck makes a little shiver run down his spine, and all he can concentrate on for a moment is her - her touch, her taste, her smell - and he's so confused by her, but he also can't stop his battered heart from tripping all over itself at the way she directs her attention on him. Her dark eyes meet his, and he has this sharp flutter of hope in his stomach, but he tries to tamp it down, tells himself the only reason she’s acting this way is because she _must_ be drunk. It can't be that she misses him like she says, because _Christ,_ he doesn't really believe in miracles, and the idea that she might change her mind about them just when he's finally given up all hope would certainly have to be some kind of otherworldly phenomenon. He is not lucky enough, not talented enough to have won her back on his own.

Everyone knows he’s willing to pay attention to her though. He can't help it, has _never_ been able to help it. He's been in love with her for as long as he can remember and old habits die hard. So when she asks him, he certainly _wants_ to dance with her, he _wants_ to pay attention to her. He’s just not sure if he _should_ anymore.

The truth is, he’s easy prey for her - he's completely willing to do whatever she asks of him, is putty in her hands - but he’s well aware that he can’t keep on like this. She'll eat him alive and then go about her life while he'll be left here with his stupid broken heart, right back at square one, when he feels like he's just barely made it to square two. 

Robin knows he can’t keep her, she's made it very clear that she’ll never be his, and he can’t keep dying of regret and despair every time she flickers in and out of his life. He’s got his son to think about now, and he doesn’t want Roland to see him all broken to bits, he doesn’t want to set that kind of example for his boy. He wants to show his son what love looks like at its heavenly best - not what happens when you fuck it all to hell and have to survive in the apocalyptic aftermath.

He frowns, but can’t form the words to tell Regina he can’t dance, or that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for them to be doing this in the first place. In fact, he can’t think of _anything_ to say that doesn’t have him sounding completely tragic, so he hopes to god that if he just stands here like a statue and hangs onto her tight enough, she’ll understand his hesitation without him having to admit his humiliating reality.

She seems to be able to read something of his thoughts though, because when he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even smile for her, her eyes go all soft in that way he’s seen her do on one of the rare occasions he’s talked with her about his shoddy childhood. Her hand rubs up and down his chest for a moment - _fuck that feels nice -_ calming his unsteady pulse, then curls around the back of his neck, and when she puts her lips back to his ear, it’s to reassure him, “It’ll be alright, all you have to do is move with me.”

He winces, wishes everything was that simple, that this was _just_ about dancing, and attempts to convince her it’s a bad idea. “Uh, trust me, you really don’t want to see me out there, I’d just embarrass you,” he tries. “Honestly, you go and have fun. I’m good just watching from the side and having a pint.”

She frowns and rolls her eyes as if that’s preposterous. “You could never embarrass me,” she tips her head, her dark hair falls into her eyes and she counters, “And besides, you already proved to me that you have excellent rhythm,” she bites her bottom lip and suggestively runs her eyes down him. Robin fights back a smile, feeling a bit proud, relieved that he apparently made a good impression on her last Christmas. “And this takes _way_ less skill than _that._ ”

He chuckles, feels his ears heat with her flirtation, then lets her pull him forward one tentative step, then another. But then some drunk girl runs into him and nearly spills her drink down his trousers, and his self-consciousness rears back up, causing him to hesitate once more.

Regina gives him a calculating look then drops his hand, and his heart sinks even though he’s pretty sure he’s just achieved his goal.

“Robin,” she calls, her tone taking on a firm, no-nonsense edge to it.

“Yeah?”

She ducks her head and gives him this sultry, knowing look, purses her full lips at him and raises one eyebrow. “I _dare_ you to come and dance with me.”

She turns and weaves her way into the writhing sea of people then, and he’s left with the choice of swallowing his pride or watching her walk away from him yet again.

In all of his life, Robin has never _not_ done one of her dares.

And he’s not about to start now.

He’s only a step or two behind her, so he catches up in a flash, and she leads him deep into the crowd, so that they’re completely surrounded by other people on the dark, overcrowded dance floor. The lights have been turned way down, even the strobe of the neon has changed, making it hard to see, people are everywhere and keep bumping into him, and it makes it difficult to focus. He’s unbelievably nervous, so he blocks everything else out, concentrates only on watching her, on the way she guides his hands to wrap around her hips, the way she moves while she holds them there and starts to sway to the music. To his relief, she starts them out moving at only half the pace of the current tempo instead of trying to make him keep up with the fast beat, her grip firm, movements intentional and repetitive at first. It’s deafeningly loud - he can’t hear her speak unless she puts her lips right up against his ear - so she makes due with mostly looks and touches - and she’s a good teacher, because in no time she’s got him doing something that looks sort of like dancing.

Turns out she was right, too - this is pretty easy - because thanks to her patience and superior dancing skills, all he really has to do is move with her, he just has to keep his hands on her hips and bounce along to the beat. So instead of hating every second of this, he finds that he really is having fun, particularly because she’s looking at him like she’s having the time of her life, and there are about a hundred other good-looking blokes in this club tonight but she doesn’t seem to even notice they exist. Her eyes are set on _him_ , and it makes him feel like he’s a fucking hero.

He marvels at how gorgeous she is under the club lights, at the way her dark eyeshadow makes her eyes look hooded and mysterious, at the way her hair swishes around her like an onyx halo as she nods along with the music. The light reflects off of her gold earrings, and the way it catches the glitter on her body makes her skin shimmer in this way that’s almost ethereal. He keeps losing his breath at how stunning she is, how everything about her just transforms his life into lively color when for so long it seemed like it was dismally black and white.

When he’s got the rhythm, when he’s working her hips a bit more confidently instead of just hanging on and he’s sliding his feet with hers, she smooths her hands up his forearms to his shoulders, nodding encouragingly when he steps a little closer to her and starts to move his own hips better. The more he gets the swing of things, the more she trusts him to keep her steady it seems, and she subtly increases their pace, moving faster, faster, _faster_ , until they’re in sync with the rest of the crowd.

And it's... well _shit_. Then it gets really fucking fun.

Because then they're actually dancing together, and he doesn't feel stupid at all. He feels good, almost _proud,_ and when he looks at her she doesn't look embarrassed, she looks like she's having fun - that bright, brilliant grin, the one that lights up his whole life - just shining up at him as she bops along with him, and he can't help but smile back at her. He feels light and happy and completely carefree as she works her body in time to the beat - _so sexy_ \- with her arms around his neck - _god, he loves her this close_ \- while he acts the fool, doing his best to make her laugh. He lets loose and decides to stop being so bloody serious, tugs her hips this way and that, just acting silly, spins her and picks her up with one arm so he can shake her around, and when she shrieks these girly giggles then gives him those full-belly laughs he adores so much, he ducks his head into the crux of her neck and memorizes the sound of her, before he comes up with even more ways of getting her to laugh again, and again, and again.

The dance floor was already overcrowded when they started, and the longer they dance the more it fills up, so they gravitate closer and closer, until they’re pressed right up against each other, their legs slotting together, chests brushing until any extra space is eliminated. Something shifts between them then - goes from playful to downright sensual as Regina starts to move differently, rolling her body against him now, her arms up and head ducked down, her breath against his neck as her hips and abs do most of the work. He’s reminded of her comment about rhythm and has to fight the desire that flares through him, has to tell himself that this is still _just_ dancing, not some kind of preview to what else this night may hold, and he needs to play it cool. But then her hands slide around the back of his neck, she hikes one leg up over his hip, and suddenly she’s grinding against him, and - _fuck -_ his brain loses all coherent thought _._ He automatically slides one hand down to wrap around the back of her bare thigh - _god, she's got great thighs_ \- keeping her lower half tight to him, getting excited when she doesn’t correct him and instead, she works her core even more suggestively against him. Robin skates his hand up further, boldly venturing beneath the hem of her skirt, his fingers splaying across her smooth skin, tugging her toward him and encouraging her to rock her hips. She does - _fuck,_ she’s killing him with this - she rubs herself against him as lust colors the edges of his vision, the heavy bass of the music thrumming in his chest and her hot body all up on him. He coasts his other hand over her ribs, moves it higher and brushes against the side of her breast, and she arches her back against him as if she likes what he’s doing, so he does it again, and - _Christ -_ she turns her head and sucks hard on the side of his neck. Robin groans and nearly shudders at the rush of heat that goes straight to his groin - _fuck, now he’s half hard_ \- and he can't help but think about how if they weren’t wearing clothes, he could quite literally be inside of her right now. God, he wants that, wants _her,_ so, so badly.

He’s just about to get a bit more brave, about to slide his hand even further up, maybe get a feel of her arse, see what kind of knickers she’s got on - god he hopes it’s a thong, or anything with lace, _fuck_ \- when she turns in his arms. Suddenly her round behind is rubbing right up against his groin - _ohhh god -_ and he grabs at her hips, not sure if he should encourage her or not. She shimmies against him, slinks down his body then slides back up, and he puffs out an overexcited breath, knows he’s got to step back before he embarrasses himself and she feels his hard on, but just as he starts to put some space between them, her left arm reaches up and back to wrap around his neck, pulling his head down, trapping him close so that he has no choice but to feel every inch of her pressed up against him. He groans into her shoulder, is certain she bloody-well knows what she’s doing, that she’s purposely getting him riled up for her with this. It’s no secret he thinks she’s gorgeous, and the feeling of her curves rubbing against him like this isn’t helping him stay in control. No, the way she slides her body up and down, arching her back and grabbing his thigh as she nods her head back and forth, the way her braless tits bounce as she bops along with the music … _Christ,_ he’s getting more rigid by the second.

He’s got a thousand filthy thoughts racing through his mind now, can’t help picturing all the things he wants to do to her. He's dying to smooth his hands up the front of her toned thighs, slip them under her skirt - he's aching to know if she's as turned on as he is - would do anything to be allowed to shove her knickers to the side and see if she’s wet. God, he wants to touch her so badly, wants to rub her hot little clit while he fucks her _hard,_ wants to make her buck, and pant, and writhe - to scream his name - wants her to come, and come, and _come_ for him, wants to make her feel as uncontrolled as she’s making him feel with every graze against him right now.

Robin runs his hands across her stomach and matches his hips to hers, holds her to him and grinds on her arse while he drops his lips to the top of her shoulder. She feels like heaven against him and she looks like sin, like pure temptation - the tiny straps of her top allow him mostly unfettered access to her shoulders, and from the mark she sucked onto his neck he’s pretty sure it’ll be alright to return the favor. So he goes for it without asking, drops his head and uses his teeth and tongue to nip and suck along the top of her shoulder from the inside of her strap to the crux of her neck. He nearly dies of excitement when she tips her head to give him better access, her fingers digging into the back of his neck a bit, encouraging him. Their bodies keep bumping to the music as he thoroughly mouths her shoulder, then continues up the side of her neck, and with every swipe of his tongue across her salty skin, he craves more of her, wants to kiss her again, longs to put his mouth on _much_ more sensitive places. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hands have skimmed up over the silky fabric of her tank to palm her tits, and he half expects her to slap him, but she doesn’t. Oh, _fuck_ , she arches and throws her head back, because she’s perfect, and she's _his_ girl, and - _Christ -_ with her so clearly into this, he loses all sense of decency and pinches her hard little nipples, starts tugging on them through her shirt while her fingers encouragingly dig into his thigh. Her movements get a bit jerky, she’s still dancing but he can tell she’s having to concentrate on it, that he’s got her proper distracted, and it isn’t long before every quick flick and twist of her nipples has got her losing the beat in favor of bucking her arse back against his stone-hard cock.

The music shifts to a heavy R&B jam, and that doesn’t help anything, because it’s far too sensual, too encouraging for the mood and lack of control he’s already experiencing. He’s looking over her shoulder now, staring down at his hands as he plays with her tits, biting his lip when the light flashes, because he can _see_ the hard points of her nipples, and when he flicks his thumbs over them they just get even more peaked, and - _fuck -_ he remembers how sensitive they are for her, and he desperately wants to suck on them. Her top is low cut and he thinks if he tugged it down another inch that he could free the pebbled tips, could get his fingers right on them and really make her feel good, and - _god_ \- he’s sure she’d let him do it, too. She’s so enthusiastic, bloody-well _gone_ with lust, grinding her arse on his dick like she loves that he’s hard, and hot, and touching her in a way that’s certain to get them kicked out of the club.

He doesn’t give a fuck about rules though - he’d happily break every law on God’s green Earth for her - and he’s seriously contemplating the best route to take in order to get his hands on her bare tits when another couple brushes against them, he loses his concentration, and glances up in time to catch the man checking her out.

The cocky bastard throws Robin an approving nod, and like the strike of a match, or rather, the snap of a mousetrap - something inside of him _shatters_ _,_ and this red-hot streak of male possessiveness rails through him, makes him bare his teeth at the man and snarl in anger.

Regina is _his._

Rationally he knows she isn’t – not for keeps - but his brain argues that at least for this one short moment she is – that he’s hers and she’s his – and _fuck_ that guy for getting in the way, for taking up even one second of his precious time with her. Robin’s the one who’s made her this way - all lustful and uncontrolled - and he’s not about to share her, not about to let anyone be privy to just how beautiful she is like this. No bloody-fucking-way.

With one last warning glare at the other man and anger still thrumming through his veins, Robin turns her roughly back around to face him. Her pupils are blown wide with desire, an exact match to his own, and he kisses her hard, licks at her lips and seeks entrance to her mouth, one hand worming it’s way down the waistband of her skirt to grab at her arse, the other up into her hair. He’s not even pretending to dance anymore, no, he’s just making out with her, or rather, he’s _fucking_ her mouth, claiming her, stroking his tongue in deep, flicking against hers and sucking hard again and again, sinking his teeth into her plump, swollen lips, thirsty for her, greedy for every single touch. She’s _his_ right now, goddammit, and _fuck_ , he’s about to show her what she’s been missing, what he could’ve— what he _would’ve_ bloody-well been giving her these past eleven months if she’d only given him a mother-fucking chance.

* * *

He's angry.

Oh god, he’s so angry. She can feel it vibrating off his skin, can feel the way his hands are shaking, how he’s pressing his lips so hard against hers she’s almost certain they’ll bruise.

Good.

She pushes right back, moans when he shoves his tongue deep in her mouth and lets him grab her ass and grind against her, not caring if it’s appropriate, that there’s a sea of people around them that might not approve. She wants him to touch her, to do whatever he wants - she’d let him strip her down right here if he so much as hinted at it - he certainly deserves it and the dance floor is way too crowded, the lights so low that nobody can see a damned thing anyway.

She runs her hands along his waist, then slips them up under his shirt, stroking the hard-cut lines of his pectorals, nails scratching lightly here and there, fingers pressing intimately along his abs. _Jesus,_ in their time apart he certainly hasn’t let fatherhood do any damage to his gorgeous physique. She remembers his stomach is sensitive, and skates her fingers across his warm skin, trails them along the edge of his waistband before dipping them just under the elastic of his boxers, and – _mmm_ – she gets him to moan into her mouth. Robin kisses her hard then, twists his fingers a little tighter in her hair and thoroughly ravages her mouth, his tongue diving in again and again. She could kiss him for hours – _god_ – she loves the way he’s not afraid to get heated, the way he openly shows his desire for her, that he always goes all in with these hot sucking pulls mixed in with these sharp nips and teasing little licks that are so passionate they’ve got her threading both of her hands into his hair so she can steady herself from the dizzy light-headedness she gets from just the meeting of their lips.

She wants to make him feel like he makes _her_ feel, is nearly frantic for it, actually - has this singular thought repeating over and over like a broken record in her head. She’s made him hurt so terribly and she wants to fix it, she wants to _so badly_ , wants to soothe the damage to his pure, perfect heart. He deserves it – deserves to be taken care of, to be loved on and looked after and to never feel anything but happy. She wants to tell him that, to _do that_ for him, but she doesn’t know how – it’s been months and she hasn’t found a way, hasn’t figured out what the hell to say to him or how to approach him about it. She’s so ashamed of herself, doesn’t have the slightest clue how to insert herself into his life, how to even ask if she’s welcome or if he’d consider taking her back. She feels pathetic and incompetent and so, so, stupid, but, god, she also just… she wants to make him feel good for once.

This is exactly why she takes zero responsibility for the actions of her hands when she slides them away from his stomach - that, and the fact that she’s distracted by his tongue, is busy dueling with it, warring over the real estate of his mouth. They’re so close that they keep bumping into each other, their thighs, hips, and chests colliding, and the lines of their bodies are blurry – she’s not keeping track of who’s who, they’re too tangled up in each other at this point for her to care. She swears she doesn’t realize what she’s done until she’s done it, doesn’t even think about the fact that it’s completely inappropriate until she’s already slid her hand down, down, _down(!)_ beneath his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his cock, because somehow she managed to totally unbuckle and unbutton him without giving the fact that they're in public a second thought. She just - she wants to make him feel good - and this will definitely accomplish that goal.

He rips his mouth away from hers and looks down at her hand, and she waits him out, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, anticipation jittering through her chest, until he looks back up at her and studies her face, and - _oh god –_ he looks like he’s about to eat her alive.

She wonders if he’ll reject her, if he’ll push her away, but then he throws one arm around her shoulders and hauls her impossibly closer before he starts speaking in her ear.

"What, _fu-uck,_ what're you doing?" His hips jerk when she gives him a short, smooth stroke, then another, starting up a quick rhythm, and he huffs against her neck, "Oh god, darling, we shouldn't."

Shouldn't - not _can't_.

She keeps stroking him, staring up at him - she's so turned on, knows he is too, so she starts kissing and biting at his lips, panting against his mouth as her hand works him, and fuck, _fuck –_ when he starts kissing her back, she knows he’s as lost to this as she is.

" _Blimey, that's so good_ ," he groans, reaches down to grab at her ass and she continues to work the length of him, twisting over his sensitive head, trying to drive his arousal up by the second even though she knows this is a terrible idea and they will probably have to stop. She wraps her other hand up around his neck anyway though, keeping his face close to hers so they can continue to kiss, and she could cry with how close to him she feels, how she hasn’t been so connected to him in forever. She’s almost euphoric with it, her endorphins rushing, and she knows he’s enjoying it too, can feel his abs quivering, his breaths puffing out much too fast, the heat of his entire body radiating against her with arousal and excitement that amps up by the second.

“Wanna be inside of you,” he leans down and rasps into her ear, then sucks hotly just below it, “All of you, every part; wanna taste you so bad, make you come - just like last time - you remember?”

She slows her hand on him and nods, slowly grazes her nose against his cheek and breathes a hot, ‘ _yesss’_ into his ear. A shiver of excitement races up her spine as she does indeed, remember.

“You made me so wet,” she murmurs, pumping him slowly, almost lazily, and she squeezes her eyes shut with the memory of how she dripped for him, how she soaked the leather of the sofa, how the walls of the cigar lounge echoed with their cries of passion. He slips his fingers under the waistband of her thong and runs them back and forth along the edge. “You fucked me _so hard_ ,” she purrs in his ear, tightens her grip on his cock and moves infinitesimally quicker. She’s lost in the memory now, _oh, he feels so good,_ “God, the way you used your tongue and your fingers, and when I came - remember how you had to hold me down because I couldn’t stop my legs from shaking?”

Robin groans. “ _Fuck_.”

She starts sucking on his neck, dragging her teeth across his pulse, laving her tongue over his rough stubble, her hand stroking almost distractedly up and down his cock as she thinks about all the ways he worked her over last year. Oh, how she wishes he was inside of her right now. She can't believe it’s been almost a year since the last time - it’s a fucking travesty - and when he grips her ass cheek _hard_ , she nearly moans with the unfairness of the situation, wishing he could do more – wishing he could slap the round muscle, could make it shake, could bend her over right here and really take her the way she needs.

“Has anyone gotten you off like that since, babe?” he asks, “Anyone else done you right?” He sounds almost as if he’s genuinely interested, and she wonders if he recalls how Daniel had her convinced that there was something wrong with her. She wonders if he’s referring to how he’d taken it upon himself to prove to her over, and over, and _over_ that Daniel was absolutely _wrong_ , and god, she’s suddenly feeling like she needs a reminder.

She unwraps her fingers from his hot, rigid length, slides her hand out of his pants and for a few seconds, she simply rests her head against his collar bone. She takes a few deep breaths to gather her courage and when she lifts her head, her dark eyes are imploring and serious.

“Come home with me.”

He looks surprised, but to her relief - and astonishment - he doesn't bother to argue with her. 

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Now?”

Again, she shakes her head, and that's all the discussion it takes to have them heading for the nearest exit.

* * *

The taxi ride to Regina’s apartment is hell. He wants to kiss her, whisper filthy things in her ear, wants to slide his hand up her skirt and rub her off, but the bloody driver won’t take a hint and shut the fuck up. The old fool started chatting with them from the moment they slid into the back seat and hasn’t paused for a breath yet, incessantly trying to engage them in lively conversation that Robin absolutely does _not_ want to have.

It’s torture.

Regina is doing her best to politely make conversation with the driver on both their behalf though, which he’s rather grateful for, because it’s given him a few minutes to calm down and put his thoughts together. He knows that this probably isn’t the best idea, that he doesn’t have a clue what’s up with Regina’s behavior tonight, and he doesn’t know what she wants - hell, he hasn’t even been able to ask if she’s staying permanently in London or only here for a short stint. His inability to ask these things is agony - he feels like a dog who's been muzzled - and the not knowing is driving him mad, all these conflicting emotions and confusing thoughts keep bouncing around in his head, making him question everything he thought he knew. To top it off, his arousal hasn’t abated _at all,_ so here he is, twiddling his thumbs and doing his best not to think about how ten minutes ago, the stunning woman next to him in the obscenely short skirt and sexy-as-fuck high-heel boots had her hand wrapped around his now throbbing erection. He’s trying desperately not to think about how he could have hailed any other cab in the entire city, but no, he had to get the world’s most irritating chatty chap, because karma hates him and is punishing him like always.

His fingers itch to touch her, so he clenches them into fists and drops his head, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to control his longing for her, hoping it’s not much further to her apartment. He focuses on breathing, takes deep, slow breaths in and out through his nose, attempts to calm his rapid pulse and the flurry of nerves that are shocking through him now that they’ve broken out of the strange, almost hypnotic atmosphere of the club. It helps at first - he almost manages to silence the hundreds of questions he wants to ask her - but then he accidentally shifts and his cock rubs against his jeans, and he is suddenly teased with flashes of images of the last time they slept together. He remembers the feel of her firm, round arse in each of his hands, how she moaned and arched under the attention of his mouth and fingers; he can clearly recall pressing kisses to each of her ribs, the exact color of her dark little nipples, how they got all peaked and tight when he pinched, and licked, and sucked on them. _Christ_ , he can even replay the way her tits bounced and jiggled, how they looked so-fucking-brilliant when she was on top of him, and beneath him, and bugger, he realizes he’s already in way over his head and he’s got no idea what to do about it.

Robin rubs his clenched fists against his eyes in frustration. No matter what he does, he can’t block out the tantalizing images of her, and damnit, he can’t stop the barrage of questions assaulting his mind either. What is Regina expecting from this? Is it a one-time deal or is there a chance she wants more? Does she love him? Does she even _like_ him?

He can feel that his hands are shaking, that he’s breathing much too quickly to be considered normal, that he’s even got a few beads of sweat at his temples. His chest is beginning to feel tight, he can’t stop his knees from bouncing, there is anger rising in him that he can’t quell, and just when he’s certain he’s not going to make it, that the stress of the situation is going to make his heart violently explode in his chest, out of nowhere, Regina suddenly reaches out and takes his hand in hers. Without saying a word, she sets to work massaging his palm, works her smooth, fine fingers carefully along each muscle, traces the lines that criss-cross the center, then repeats the motions over and over, and it only takes a minute for her tender touch to calm his demons.

He doesn’t understand her, doesn’t get why she’s being so sweet and loving and genuine with him right now, and worse still, he can’t control the way his battered heart is eating it up.

When she looks up and catches him staring at her, she gives him this soft smile that has him leaning over to kiss her temple, then her cheek, before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her over to sit flush up against him - the nosy cab driver be damned. The movement causes her skirt to catch under her though, tugs it down just a bit, and when she shifts to correct it, Robin notices a dark smudge against her skin. He frowns, automatically reaches to wipe the mark from her, but when he rubs his thumb over it - just in front of her hip bone - it doesn’t come off.

The streetlights provide only dim lighting as they flash by, but it’s enough that he can tell it’s not a shadow, nor is it a bruise, and, shit, he thinks - no, it can’t be, can it? - it might just be a tattoo. The longer he investigates, the more Regina tenses up next to him, and that just serves to make him even more interested in figuring out what it is. As far as he knows she’s never hidden anything from him, they’ve never kept secrets, save for _one_ \- Roland - but he supposes she has her reasons for keeping things from him, especially now, when they’re sitting right next to each other but arguably as distant as they’ve ever been.

He can’t quell his curiosity though, and it immediately starts to eat at him, starts to make him feel this thumping urgency in the pit of his stomach, begging him to solve the mystery. Robin presses his fingers against her warm, soft skin and traces the mark that he still can’t quite make out, then tucks them under the edge of her skirt and slowly starts to pull it down. She doesn’t stop him, but in the quiet of the car he can hear her breath catch and hold, and he’s confused by her nervousness. Certainly she must know that he won’t judge her for a little ink - she’s been drawing fake tattoos on him for years, and if he’d had the money he’d have gotten a real one by now, it’s just that he’s been gladly preoccupied spending every cent on either spoiling the dickens out of his boy or putting it in savings for him, so it hasn’t made his list of priorities.

He finally gets the waistline of her skirt inched far enough down to reveal the entire image to him, and while he waits for the next set of street lights to illuminate the backseat, his heart starts to do this odd, excited little flip-flop in his chest. Her head is up and she’s looking forward while she pretends to be interested in the conversation that the driver is prattling on about, but her body is angled toward him, one hand braced between them on the seat, and he can tell her attention is on what he’s doing. He notes that she’s still holding her breath, and when he finally has enough light to get a decent look at what proves to be an absolutely beautiful tattoo, Robin immediately understands why she’s so tense, because he’s suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, too.

He only gets to look for a second, but he knows for a fact that just there, tattooed across Regina’s perfect hipbone, is the shape of a small, intricately detailed, antique key.

A key that looks just like the one that opens their cigar lounge.

The questions that have been thundering in his ears suddenly cease, and in the deafening silence only one remains. Is it - could it even be possible - that she has marked herself like that for _them_?

He brings his head up so fast he almost clips her chin, not realizing how close they are, how she’s moved to watch him as he checks it out. Her eyes meet his, and his pulse is pounding so hard he can feel it jostling his chest. The damned cabby is still yammering on, oblivious to Robin’s distress, but he doesn’t care about that old fool anymore. He doesn’t know if he has a right to ask her the purpose behind her getting this exact tattoo, but he’s dying to know, and he has to say _something,_ so he slides his fingers back and forth across the beautiful marking and whispers to her, “This is gorgeous, darling, well done.”

She smiles at him then, all shy and sweet, like his approval means the world to her, then reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear as she ducks her head and looks down where his fingers are still running across her skin. “I always have it with me,” she murmurs.

His softly stroking fingers draw to an abrupt, stunned stop, and she licks her lips, then frowns and casts him a wary side-eye.

Her tone is clearly frustrated when she adds, “I’ve told you before that it matters, Robin, maybe now you’ll believe me.”

Robin fell out of an apple tree once when he was a lad. He climbed six feet up on a dare and landed flat on his back so hard that he knocked every ounce of air from his lungs, and he remembers well the fear that ripped through him then, vividly recalls being terrified that he was done for, that his chest would never expand with fresh, clean air, ever again.

Shocked, he stares into Regina’s imploring, almond-shaped eyes as the seconds tick by, and he feels exactly like he did when he fell out of that tree.

The car hits a pothole and his whole body jostles, then startles to life, tingling with awareness, like he’s just been injected with pure adrenaline, and the next thing he knows he’s bringing his hand up to thread through her hair. He has this insatiable need to see her better, so he guides her face in close to his, and he _swears_ that her sincere, hopeful expression is telling him all the different things he’s been dying to hear since last December - _I love you’s_ , _I want you’s_ , and _Let’s give it a go’s_ all reflecting back at him - and he could combust with the elation that sweeps through him. She runs her hands up the sides of his neck and cups his jaw, then tips his head so their foreheads are touching, and it’s so simple but at the same time, so trusting and tender. He feels overwhelmed, his eyes are burning with emotion, and he prays that this is real, that he’s not having another one of those bloody nightmares that have mocked him over the last few months. He’d kill to be anywhere but in the backseat of this blasted taxi right now so he could properly talk to her, could really have it out, but he’ll take what he can get because if what he thinks is happening, _is_ happening, his whole life might be about to change, and god, he really, really wants that.

The driver takes the next turn a bit sharply and instead of bracing, Regina lets her body lean, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls herself tightly to him. She nudges his nose with hers and her warm, sweet breath ghosts over his chin, and he swears that time stands utterly still as he holds her in his arms and nuzzles her nose in return. They stay that way for a moment, just sharing breaths, mouths brushing but not quite kissing, noses bumping, his arms snug around her while she strokes her hands over his shoulders and neck.

He's just thinking that this is too good to be true, that this moment is too perfect, when she locks eyes with him, breaks the charged silence and whispers, “I love you.”

She leans in and presses her soft, pillowy lips to his in a long, drawn-out kiss that’s heady and sweet, intense and full of promise. She smells of exotic vanilla and tastes like caramel apples, she's warm and smooth and just so _her_ that Robin can’t even dream of sharing this moment with anyone else. His heart’s been hers for ages, whether she wants it or not, and it only takes this one honest kiss to launch him out of control and right back off the deep end. As their tongues tentatively meet, then smoothly slide alongside each other, he is so full of adoration for her that he can almost feel the tearing of the shoddy stitches that’ve been holding his splintered heart together, and he prays that this is the moment when she will finally mend it good and proper.

But then the bloody driver clears his throat and calls loudly, "Ey none of that funny stuff now," and Regina quickly pulls back, separating their lips with a loud, sucking _smack._ Robin’s not had enough though, he’s not giving up so easily, and he chases after her, not giving a fuck if the driver is annoyed, or if they’re about to get kicked out of the cab, or what other consequences they might face. This is his moment with his girl and absolutely nothing is going to break it.

He steals a second kiss before she can get her arms down from his shoulders, and a third while she's distracted and trying to shift so that she's sitting somewhat less on his lap than she previously was. In the few seconds it takes her to correct their seating arrangement, he’s nearly pulsing from warring with his need to reverse it right back, because if anything, he wants her closer, wants her on top of him, wants her pressed as tightly to him as he can get her, where he intends to keep her for as long as she will allow it. As far as he's concerned, the cabby can sod-off, and he's about to say as much, when he catches the look on Regina's face, and he stops short.

She obviously doesn't want him to lay into the old man, and he can tell because she's giving him this amused little smirk like she already knows how cheesed-off he is, like she thinks it’s hilarious and she’s trying not to laugh, and that just, Christ, that just makes him want her more. She knows him so well, can read him better than anyone, and he _loves_ that. _Loves her._

She’s next to him now but they’re still pressed tightly together, and he runs one arm along the backrest to curve around her shoulders so he can bring her over to him a bit. She comes willingly, she even smiles and turns into him, drops her shoulder and slips her arm around his lower back. He likes that - _really_ likes that she’s holding him too, that her eyes keep slipping down longingly to stare at his lips, that she’s breathing in these short little pants, that her chest is rising and falling quickly and he can feel the heat of her body radiating against him. He wants to kiss her so badly but she’s making a half-hearted attempt at responding to the driver, trying to keep them out of trouble because he’s been absolutely no help. He would, honestly there’s nothing he likes more than jumping in when she needs his assistance, but he can’t take his eyes off of her - the perfect cut of her jawline, the straight bridge of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the way her gold hoop earrings catch the light and draw his attention to her gorgeous onyx hair. She’s bloody-well perfect, too tempting not to touch, so he goes for it and turns just a bit more so that he’s nearly sitting sideways and can comfortably get his other hand on her thigh.

And _fuck_ , he’s underestimated how much he likes her thighs.

He bites his bottom lip at first contact, his fingers squeezing on instinct as he wraps them around her firm, smooth muscle, which is blissfully bare thanks to the tiny skirt she’s sporting. He can feel her fingers tighten in the back of his jean jacket and it makes him smirk, because she’s still chatting with the driver, acting innocent, and oh, he’s about to make this anything but.

Robin leans in close and presses his forehead to her temple, slides his hand up her leg an inch, then another inch, and rasps, “You’ve no idea how much I've wanted to hear you say that.” She leans her head toward him in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything - she can’t, she’s busy discussing the latest royal family drama rumors with their driver.

Her skin is so soft, so _warm_ , and he draws his fingertips over her, makes little patterns as he moves them closer and closer to his goal.

“How much further to your place?” he murmurs.

Her voice is low and breathy, completely different from the false, preppy tone she’s giving the driver. “Five minutes, ten at most.”

Robin grits his teeth - fuck, that seems like forever. He absolutely does _not_ want to wait that long, and when he looks in her eyes, it’s clear that she feels the same.

“Think you can keep him chatting?” he whispers, then presses a kiss to her cheek, the hinge of her jaw, just under her ear. “Keep him distracted while I…” he slides his hand up further, _further -_ until he can feel the heat between her legs, his fingertips brush the edge of her knickers, and he nearly moans with anticipation.

Regina sucks in a quick breath and nods, and it’s a simultaneous rush of relief and excitement that flashes through him, makes him grin and dip down to suck hot, wet kisses along the side of her neck for a moment before he collects himself and pulls back. He knows he’s going to have to keep it together for them to have a proper chance at getting away with this, and _Christ,_ he really, really wants to and he doesn’t care to have the black mark that comes with getting caught.

Knowing that, and actually _doing_ it, however, is proving to be rather difficult.

He glides his hand up, up, up - until he can press his fingers to her core, right against where the lace of her knickers is doing almost nothing to hide the heat and slick moisture she is making for him. Rubbing gently, smoothly, he starts to touch her, sliding the thin material across her, enjoying the way her back arches, how her fingers splay and clench at the back of his jacket when he applies a bit more pressure and focuses in on where he can feel her entrance is, probing lightly through the fabric and teasing her with promises of what is to come, all while she nods along and plays nice with the driver. Her knickers are soaked beneath his fingers within seconds, her slippery arousal making them glide easily against her as he rubs her, and he watches excitedly as her breathing increases, her lips parting slightly to allow the fast, quiet little huffs of air to escape.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispers to her, slides his fingers up and down over her slit. “You’re proper wet too, aren’t you?” he swirls his fingers to make his point, then runs his fingertips along the edge of her knickers. “Can you keep quiet?” he starts to slip those fingers beneath her underwear then stops, teases, “Or do you need me to dare you to?”

Her eyes flick to his, full of fire and a touch of mischief, and she whispers, “I can do it.” Then she bites her lip and looks longingly at his - god, he wants to kiss her - before she returns her false attention to speaking with the man in the front seat.

He slides his fingers beneath her knickers and - _oh fuck_ \- shudders out a quick breath against her neck when he feels the hot, slippery wetness she’s made for him. Her hips lift toward his hand in an apparent beg for his touch, but true to her word, she doesn’t make a sound, and he’s so impressed that he accidentally falls into old habits for a second and praises, “That’s my girl.”

It seems to be the right thing to say though, because Regina shivers in response and - _god, oh thank the heavens_ \- she parts her legs a fraction more. _Fuck_ , he loves that she’s so needy, that she wants him to touch her as much as he wants to touch her, too.

Robin smiles into the crook of her neck, tells her, “That’s right, open up for me. You’re fucking soaked, _Christ_ , you feel so good.”

His fingers glide over her easily, and even in the cramped, awkward position of the car he can tell how desperate she is, can hear the waiver in her voice when she tries to carry on the conversation with their cabby, can see the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. She smells incredible - he’s got his face tucked in close to her shoulder and neck, where he can smell the mix of her perfume and shampoo, and it’s intoxicating him with every breath. He drags his fingers deeper through her slit a few times, nice and slow, from her entrance all the way up, then back again, before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside and has to bite his cheek to keep quiet. She’s beautifully tight, and he’d love nothing more than to slide his tongue into her, to suck on her swollen lips, to drag his teeth gently across her tender skin, and his mouth waters for a taste, for one little lick to sate his desire.

He swirls gently around and around her entrance, then shallowly dips in and out of her before he slides up to circle her clit. As he increases the movement of his fingers, she swallows thickly and looks toward the ceiling, her chest shuddering while he carefully presses down on the swollen bud and swirls faster, _faster_. He knows he’s got it right when her hips start to rock, her breaths sharpen, and then she quickly turns her face toward him, ducks her head and quietly whines his name against his shoulder. She’s close, but he doesn’t let her come - no, he keeps her right on the edge instead, works and works her little clit with vigor while he whispers to her how gorgeous she is, how much he wants her, how he can’t wait to get her out of this skirt, but he slows down when she starts to shudder, reminds her to pick her head up and that she’s got to respond to the driver, teases that she promised to keep quiet and that if she comes she’ll surely lose her side of the bargain because he doesn’t believe for a second she’ll be able to stay silent.

When he’s got her good and worked up, rolling her hips in these little tiny motions - nothing the driver can see, but Robin can certainly feel the way she’s trying to ride his hand - he runs his fingers back down and delves inside of her, now to the second knuckle. He’s _so_ rigid in his trousers, throbbing and burning up for her, wishing his fingers were his cock, so annoyed that he can't pull her over onto his lap and bury himself to the hilt. She feels incredible, she’s so wet that within seconds his hand is soaked - so much so that he has to be careful - he can’t move too fast when he adds a second finger and starts to work them a bit, because the wet, slick sounds are bound to give them away.

“You’ve got me so hot,” he whispers, bites back a groan when her hand suddenly finds his inner thigh and starts to rub. “Wish I could eat you out right now,” he pants, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “Wish I could lick your hot little lips, suck on your clit. I miss the taste of you so fucking much.”

He curls his fingers in her and starts to work them, tapping and rubbing at her tight inner walls, searching for the exact spot that will - _there it is_ \- that will make her lose control. He’s merciless once he’s got it - he rubs and rubs and rubs the tips of his fingers right against it, thrusting shallowly while he watches her jaw clench, the muscles in her neck strain, the way she squeezes her eyes shut with pleasure. She’s close again - _fuck_ is she ever easy to work up - and he kisses her cheek, tugs her closer with his other arm and warns her, “Uh-uh, eyes open, gorgeous - you’ve got to keep our driver distracted.”

In protest, she gives him the most adorable pout ever, and he can’t resist - her lips are so full, so lush, god, he just can’t hold back - so he steals a quick kiss. She rewards him with a smile and he sets to work on her again, starts sliding his fingers as deep as he can, seeking out that spot that makes her _so wet,_ the one that makes her fingers dig into his thigh, the one that, the longer he teases, starts to cause each of her breaths to end with a mostly muffled, but still intelligible whine that makes his poor cock _strain_ in his trousers. Just when he’s sure she can’t take the direct stimulation anymore, he slips his fingers out and starts flurrying them over her clit, and it only takes a few - _oh, fuck_ \- only a few seconds - _that’s it now_ \- before she’s nearly there.

Suddenly, Regina’s hips give a little jerk, and she leans over quickly to bury her face in the crook of his neck. Her hand drops to his forearm and she fiercely holds him in place, her voice a rough whisper and nearly frantic as she orders him, “Please, _please_ don’t stop, _oh god,_ don’t-stop-don’t-stop-don’t–”

“Annnd here we are then!” their driver announces loudly, and Robin jerks his hand out from her skirt just in time to avoid the old man’s gaze when he turns around to look at them.

“Ah, she’s dozed off has she?” the old man asks, and Robin just goes along with it and nods while he tries to shield his sodden fingers from view. He tries and fails not to smirk at the fact that Regina is legitimately trembling against him, on the verge of orgasm, her breaths choppy, her pretty face pressed against his neck, hands clutching desperately to him.

“Well that’s too bad, she’s quite a lovely conversationalist, isn’t she?” the oblivious man continues, then adds, “Alright then, that’ll be a hundred and twenty pounds from you, my boy.”

Robin pays the fare and they stumble, lust-drunk, out of the cab, then it’s a quick dash up to her (very impressive) building with Regina leading the way, her hand gripping his tightly, her keys at the ready. She lets them into the main entry so fast he nearly trips over the threshold, then she’s tugging him past the night guard and moving toward a bank of elevators. Just as they’re about to reach them, though, a group of rather loud teenagers comes rushing in from outside and pushes past them, cramming into the lift and causing Regina to pull up sharply. The other set of lifts has an Out of Order sign taped to it, and with a scowl she turns, mutters, “ _Fuck_ ,” then, “C’mon,” and drags him through a nearby door with bold black lettering on it that reads, _Stairs._

“I’m on the second floor,” her cheeks have a pretty flush to them, her lipstick’s a bit smudged, and his heart flutters simply at the sight of her. She steps into him, runs her hands up his chest and drops her eyes to his lips as she murmurs, “Try and keep up.”

Then she turns and starts legging it up the stairs at a full sprint, and Robin immediately bolts after her, confident they’re never going to make it past the first landing.

* * *

They don’t make it past the first landing.

Robin’s big hands wrap around her waist before she can hit the next set of stairs and he hauls her back to him, spins them and presses her up against the wall, his front to her back, her cheek flush against the cool, light blue stucco.

“Want you so bad,” he rasps in her ear as he slides his hands over her hips and down, _down_ to smooth along the fronts of her bare thighs, “God, love, you’re gonna have to tell me to wait.”

She smirks against the wall and arches her back, rubs her ass against his groin and lets out a shaky breath. She’s just as hot for him, probably more so, and “wait” is not in her vocabulary right now.

“Regina,” his voice is a low warning, his fingers making her shiver with excitement when he toys with the hem of her short skirt before slipping them underneath. His palms are warm and a little rough against her thighs, and when he smooths them upward she parts her legs for him, moaning softly when his lips find her neck and he starts to suck.

“Tell me,” he repeats, rocking against her ass, his erection digging into her, his hands playing with the edges of her thong, teasing her, _jesus_ she wants him. “Oh god, tell me we can’t,” he demands, but his voice breaks, and he slips his fingers beneath her underwear to slide one - _mmmh_ \- slowly inside of her. “I, I need you to tell me not to fuck you right here.”

“I,” she gasps when he starts stroking in and out of her, keeping it at a torturously slow pace, then reaches up with his other hand and palms her breast, pinches her nipple through the satin of her shirt. “I, _oh-my-god_.”

“Please,” he begs against her neck, biting and sucking at her creamy skin, “Regina, _please,_ ” and she doesn’t know if he’s asking for more or less of her, but she knows what _she_ wants.

He starts rolling her nipple and working her clit then, two fingers swirling fast over the sensitive bud, and she throws her head back against the solid muscle of his chest.

“I - oh, _just-like-that_ -” _God_ , she needs to come, she’s so close, still worked up from before with even more wet heat pooling between her thighs - she’s a fucking mess - her pulse eratic, knees trembling - “ _Don’t stop_ , oh my god, Robin, please - fuck me - oh god - _fuck-me-right-now_.”

He groans, twirls her around to face him, and - _oh!_

Robin hoists her up into his arms like he’s done so many times before, with his big hands curled under the backs of her thighs, and she locks her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. She didn’t expect him to pick her up like this but his embrace is welcome - she will always love being held by him - and she drops her head to touch her forehead to his. Her hair curtains down as she looks into his face - _jesus,_ he’s handsome - so beautiful inside and out, such a sweet, thoughtful man. She loves him so much, has barely survived these last few months without him, has hated herself for keeping them apart but hasn’t been able to find a way to close the distance or repair the damage she’s done.

“I love you,” she rasps, presses a kiss to his brow, the bridge of his nose, the laugh lines that crinkle the sides of his eyes. She’s not sure if he hears her quiet whimper of, “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply, but he starts moving in the next second, long strides carrying him quickly up the stairs, his bulky arms holding her tightly to him as he swings around the corner and jogs up the next flight.

She greedily runs her hands through his hair, so soft and fine, so different from hers, and brings her nose to his temple. It’s the smell of his sandalwood shampoo that makes her close her eyes, that causes her to hum and press soft, quick kisses to his head and murmur embarrassing things like, _I missed you so much,_ and _you feel so good,_ and _please, please hurry, I need you._

He takes the next flight of stairs two steps at a time, and when they reach the top, they’re finally outside the door that leads to the second floor hallway. He grabs for the doorknob, but she just can’t help herself - she starts sucking along the thick column of his throat, moaning when his stubble catches and scrapes against her lips - and instead of opening the door, Robin suddenly turns and pins her against the wall just behind it. He curses - a quiet, “ _Fuck it,”_ huffing out from his chest - then he’s kissing her deeply, his tongue probing, exploring, their mouths open wide. She shoves her hands between them and it’s a cramped flurry of motion to get his belt and jeans undone, but then she’s shifting, pulling her thong to the side and oh - _oh fuck - yes._

They both moan when he finally slides home - he’s thick and hot and stretches her so perfectly, and _god_ , for Regina, it’s just - _he’s_ just - he’s heaven.

He presses her hard against the wall, his hands firmly gripping her ass, his whole length buried in her, and when her dark eyes connect with his crystal blues, her need for him flies off the charts. She cannot believe he’s letting this happen after the way she’s treated him, but she’s so grateful - _fuck,_ she’s so lucky - and she frantically tugs his head down, kisses him with raw desperation, sucking roughly on his tongue, pulling on his top then bottom lip, dragging her teeth across his sensitive skin. She wants to be as close to him as possible, wants him to feel all of her, to make his desire as uncontrolled as hers is. He starts to thrust - two slow, careful pumps, then faster and with force - and she has to focus on hanging on, her small hands twisting in the collar of his coat as heat flares in her belly and her breath knocks out of her chest with each jolt against the wall.

Every stroke feeds the burning fire in her core, causes her clit to throb, her nipples to peak; lust clouds her mind and she can’t think. He’s all over her, pinning her, inside of her, one of his hands between them now, his thumb rubbing - _fuck_ \- right there - _god yes_ \- Right. There.

“You’ve gotta keep it down, darling,” he huffs into her shoulder, his tone serious - a warning - but he’s not breaking rhythm - _oh god_ \- he’s not letting up for a second, and she can’t catch her breath.

“You gotta be quiet,” he repeats, “Someone’s gonna hear.”

Regina tries to be quiet - she really, truly does - but he’s slamming into her now, hitting that spot deep within that makes sparks of white-hot pleasure flash all the way up through her chest, and she can only do so much. Before she can help it, she lets another throaty moan slip, then another, and _another,_ and then his hand leaves her clit and she whines - desperate for her release - pleads, “Nooo, please, Robin, _please_ \- don’t-stop-don’t-stop-don’t-stop,” but then his palm is covering her mouth, quieting her, and he’s fucking into her so rapidly that she just lets out one long, muffled, desire-filled sob as the tingling heat within her builds, and builds, and _builds_.

“Oh, that’s it,” he rasps, strokes into her harder, _harder -_ she clenches on him and feels another rush of wetness slicking her thighs - “You always did like it a bit rough, didn’t you?”

Regina closes her eyes and nods - _oh god_ \- because she really does. She loves that he’s never been afraid to give her what she needs, that he’s willing to take control, that he buckles down and _just takes, and takes, and takes her_ \- _fuck_ \- and she rolls her hips as he pounds into her, meeting his thrusts, her knuckles white with the strain of clutching at him.

“Fuck-I’m-so-close,” he groans quietly, using his hand on her mouth to tip her head back so he can suck wetly on her collarbone. “You’ve been teasing me all night, haven’t you? Been waiting for me, needing me to fuck you just like this?”

She’d argue if she could - tell him that wasn’t her intention when she saw him, not at first, anyway. She just wanted to be close to him; she couldn’t help the way her hands have a mind of their own, the way her body always drifts into his, closer, _closer._ But his hand is covering her mouth, and her thighs are damp with the pleasure he’s creating, and she can’t do anything but make a needy, “ _Mmm,”_ against his hand while the tingling heat coils tighter and tighter between her legs, and - _oh, oh god_ \- she’s suddenly right on the edge.

“How is it you feel so bloody good?” he growls in her ear, driving in deep and switching to quick full strokes that brush right where she needs him. Her inner muscles start to flutter - _fuck_ she’s going to - he’s right there and - _it’s so good_ \- her clit is throbbing, her toes are curling, she’s spiralling up, up, _up_ -

“Mm-god,” he moans, “can I, can I come insi–?”

She just barely manages to nod before her climax hits, her straight white teeth sink into the pad of his calloused palm and she sucks on his salty skin, her dark eyes scrunched closed as the waves of perfect pleasure surge through her. Her body wracks against him, inner walls clenching and releasing, and he groans loudly, praises her, “That’s it, darling, come for me,” while he pumps into her faster, _faster_. Hot, tingling shivers of her release flare through her core and radiate down her legs while she shakes apart, whines into his hand and digs her fingers into the back of his neck as he continues to fuck into her.

She’s not sure how long he goes for - she’s too caught up, lost in the way pleasure streaks through her veins, the way her inner walls are clenching on him, on the way he feels so big, stretching her body so good, so deep inside of her. She knows when he comes though, because she finally gets an overdue, sharp inhale of breath when he suddenly drops his hand from her mouth to grab her hip, and his fingers hold her firmly while he thrusts long and slow - once, twice, and one last time - his jaw clenched, body curled forward possessively around her as he finishes. She can feel the warmth of him spilling inside of her, shudders at the way her body contracts around him with little climactic aftershocks like she’s begging for more, and before she can help it, she accidentally lets this little satisfied, “ _Oh, Robin_ , _yes,_ ” escape her lips.

Robin moans in response, then surprises her by tugging the front of her shirt down to expose her left breast, which he palms for a moment before ducking down to suck on her nipple. The slick heat makes her arch her back as his tongue circles and flicks over her, and he takes the hint, suckles and tugs hard, pulses the suction over and over, and - _oh god_ \- they both shiver when her inner muscles flutter around his still-hard cock. He starts shallowly thrusting into her again, fucking her even though he’s spent - god, she loves him, he’s an animal - and he teases the tip of her breast relentlessly. She’s so sensitive, positively vibrating with endorphins, and when he gives her a particularly hard suck, it zings straight through her belly to her swollen clit, making her ache and buck her hips against him in response. She gasps and knocks her head back against the stucco, so he does it again and again, reaches down and rubs his large thumb over her clit fast, _fast -_ swirls and swirls on her - works the swollen bundle of nerves as he rocks into her, buried deep and thrusting quick-quick-quick until _fuck!_ she’s coming on him once more. Heat flares through her entire body, her arousal flashes through her - drips from where they’re joined - and a low whine slips from her pursed lips before he finally slows his movements and releases her nipple with a slick _pop_. He lingers at her breast as her chest heaves, gives her a few slow, easy flicks of his tongue while she tremors on him, followed by one soft, open-mouth kiss before he finally leaves the pebbled tip with a whispered, _“Stunning,”_ and kisses his way back up her chest.

They come down quickly after that, trying to catch their breath and trading kisses that are easy and sweet, so different from the heated intensity of all those they just shared. He’s calmer now, that fiery anxiety she saw burning in him on the ride here is no longer at the surface, and instead, he almost looks like that carefree boy she used to hang out with at Gardener Manor.

He’s still holding her up against the wall, but it just feels so natural when he kisses her and tucks his face into the side of her neck, that she smiles a little and tightens her arms around him. She could swear she hears him whisper, “Love you, too,” but it’s muffled, and she’s not quite sure if he actually said it or if she’s just so desperate to hear him return the sentiment that she made it up, but her heart leaps at the notion of it anyway.

She surprises herself when she garners the courage to ask him to repeat it, but in place of a response he presses a few soft, slow kisses along her neck, the edge of her jaw, her cheek, then nuzzles her nose with his and brings a hand up to thread through her hair. His movements are relaxed, _so_ familiar, and she closes her eyes to it, breathes in his familiar cedar cologne and steals little kisses from his lips as he lets his actions speak instead of his words.

It’s only a few blissful moments of this though - of sweet, easy kisses and gentle, adoring nose bumps - before he sighs, presses one last lingering kiss to her lips and carefully sets her on her feet. She watches as he starts doing up his pants, avoiding eye contact with her but otherwise acting almost casual, and it’s strange, an odd contrast to the sweetness he displayed two seconds ago when he held her in his arms.

“Hey,” she reaches for his hand and when he slides it into his pocket, alarm bells start ringing in her ears. “Is everything okay?”

Robin laughs softly, almost _derisively_ , and shakes his head before he says, “No, everything is definitely _not_ okay.”

Her stomach hits the floor, all the blood drains from her face, and she suddenly feels very faint.

A thousand concerns flurry through her all at once, crash down and threaten to suffocate her where she stands. The repercussions of what they’ve just done - of what _she’s_ just done - smack her full in the face, and her mouth waters as if she might vomit. They haven’t talked about anything, she hasn’t told him how she feels about him, how wrong she was in July, how she’ll do _anything_ if he can find it in him to forgive her.

No. All she’s done is feel him up in a club and fuck him in a stairwell.

At least she took the time to tell him she’s sorry, though she didn’t bother to explain what for.

God, she’s such an idiot.

Her mother always tells her that she doesn’t see the big picture, that she doesn’t think before she acts, and shit, her mother would be so smug right now, because this is the perfect example of her doing exactly that.

She didn’t even ask Robin how _he_ feels about any of this. Didn’t stop to consider that maybe he doesn’t love her anymore. That maybe he’s moved on.

Oh god.

What if this was just scratching an itch for him? Or one last hurrah? Or, fuck, maybe it’s revenge - punishment for the way she ended things the last time they saw each other.

She certainly deserves it.

They finish righting their clothes and then there’s an awkward pause that sort of drags out for a minute, before Robin ducks his head and gives her this sideways glance like he’s about to run back down the stairs as fast as they just ran up them. And that’s not happening. No way.

They came all the way here and she has things to say to him, important things.

“C’mon,” she grabs his hand firmly, threads their fingers together and yanks open the door to her floor. He’s not getting away so easily.

He trails after her, his arm stretched way out in front of him, his footsteps heavy behind her. “You uh, you don’t have to invite me in–”

“Of course I do,” she rolls her eyes and pulls him along, annoyed with the world. “But more importantly I _want_ to.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Regina, I mean, whatever you’re thinking this is, we can uh, we can just forget about it.”

They’re just outside her apartment door now, waiting while she fishes her keys out of her jacket pocket.

She turns to look at him.

“We can forget about it?” she repeats, narrows her eyes and searches his, her heart hammering fast and painful against her ribs.

“Yeah,” he brings one hand up and rubs the back of his neck, and she notices his ears are bright pink, his eyes a little red around the edges.

She can easily see he’s upset and trying to hide it.

He continues, “You don’t have to pretend this is anything… more than what just happened. I get it.”

Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “You get it?”

“Yeah,” he frowns, tries to let go of her hand but she utterly refuses, obstinately curls her fingers tighter around his, her knuckles turning white from her death grip. He gives up on separating their hands, but he breaks eye contact and shifts his gaze to look nervously down the hallway behind her. “We’ve all got needs.”

“Needs?” she scoffs, “I can get off on my own just fine, thank you.” She unlocks the door to the apartment, twisting the key much more forcefully than necessary. “It might be better with you, but “ _need”_ is a bit strong, I think.”

“S’not what you were saying in the stairwell,” he quietly fires back, just as she pushes the door open.

Regina purses her lips and pulls him inside, then shucks her coat and asks him to hang it in the entry closet as she goes about turning on a few lights.

“What can I get you to drink?” she calls from the dining area, where there’s a small bar against the back wall. “There isn’t any scotch, but there’s a decent bourbon here, and I think there’s a few beers in the fridge, if you’d prefer something lighter.”

He doesn’t answer, and even when she calls his name, she still gets no response.

It occurs to her that he might’ve slipped out the door while she wasn’t looking, and she stalks quickly back into the living area, her heart pounding in her ears.

“Robin?”

He’s still standing by the door, holding her coat, exactly where she left him. He looks… extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey,” she softens her tone and crosses the large room to him, tugs her coat from his hands and throws it in the general direction of the couch. Then she quickly takes his hands in her own and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Robin glances down at their joined hands, his thumbs rub over the backs of hers, then purposely skate across her recently manicured nails, and without looking at her, he says, “I should get going.”

“Or you could stay.”

His brow furrows. “Regina, this isn’t a good idea.”

She’s losing him - she can hear it in his voice, can _feel_ it in the way he’s touching her - or rather, the way he’s _barely_ touching her. Robin _always_ wants to touch her, he can’t keep his hands off her, and she’s not ready for this - not yet. He just got here, damnit.

She tries to buy time, deflects, “Is John expecting you back tonight?”

“Uh, I dunno.” He drops her hands and she fights tears, clenches her fists in frustration and regret when he steps back from her and turns toward the door, muttering, “But I’ll ring him, let him know I’m on my way.”

“It’s late,” she argues, ignores the way her voice cracked pathetically and lowers the volume of it, keeping her tone softer, steadier. She wants him to stay, _god_ , she wants him to stay. “It’s going to be difficult to get a cab,” she tries, “And what if John’s not alone?”

Robin does not turn to face her. Instead, he sighs heavily and places one palm flat against her door, then leans in and rests his forehead against it too.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to sleep in the truck then, won’t I?”

Her heart stings wretchedly at the casualness with which he says that. Regina knows how many times he’s had to sleep in the front seat of his old pickup, how many cold nights he’s spent curled up, shivering under a threadbare blanket, hungry and penniless, without a home, or parents, or any friends to take him in.

Tears fill her eyes and she hates herself, hates that she has treated him exactly how he expects to be treated by others. That she’s done what he probably always suspected she would.

She left him, just like everyone else has.

She threw him away, this beautiful soul, this man who wanted her, who loved her, who offered her his heart and promised her happiness and so much more. She walked away because she didn’t want to share him - she’s spoiled, _selfish_ \- and now _he’s_ being punished for it, _he’s_ going to have to go back to god-knows-where and spend the night freezing in his truck, and this time, it’s completely her fault.

It’s not fair to him. It’s not right.

And then she thinks, simply, _no_.

She won’t allow it.

Regina steps into him, smooths her hands over the broad planes of his back, then wraps her arms around him from behind and presses her face between his shoulders, hugging his bigger body to her. He takes a deep breath and she runs her hands up his chest, clutches at him, her fingers splayed wide, her chest, stomach, and thighs all pressing into him as she rubs her cheek against the jean fabric of his jacket.

“Don’t go,” she rasps.

“Darling, we’ve been over this,” his voice is eerily quiet, defeated. “We both know I don’t belong here.”

“No,” she shakes her head against his shoulder blade, tightening her arms around him. “No, it’s me. _I_ don’t belong here, and if I had just listened to you when you told me to come back to where I _do_ belong, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

Robin turns then, but she doesn’t let him go, doesn’t back up, so her arms are tight around his waist when he comes face to face with her. She can’t find the courage to meet his eyes - she’s lost in self-deprecation, hating herself for the stupid decisions she’s made, but his hands rise to frame her face, and he gently lifts her chin. When she finally manages to drag her gaze up to meet his, his eyes are full of confusion, and god, she hates that she does this to him, that she fucks with his head so much. She doesn’t mean to, she just doesn’t know what’s going on in her own head most of the time. If she did, she swears she’d do better, she wouldn’t play these games that always seem to leave them both losers in love.

“Don’t go, Robin,” she repeats, feels a traitorous tear spill over and coast down her cheek. “I want… if you’ll give me a second chance, if _you_ still want…” she takes a shaking breath and his thumb brushes the tears off her cheek. “Stay.”

One of his hands threads through her hair and Regina bites her tongue as she waits for his answer. It’s a long minute where he simply studies her face, his fingers combing carefully through her silky, jet-black strands, then stroking across her cheek, soothing and so, _so_ gentle. Then his hands leave her, and her heart aches, starts to split in half, because oh no - _no-no-no_ \- she’s lost him, she’s finally lost him for good.

But then his hands rise to his jacket, he shrugs it off, and hope flairs through every nerve ending in her body. He toes his shoes off next, then reaches behind him and flips the deadbolt shut on her front door, and she nearly collapses from relief.

He’s staying.

And… _oh shit._ It suddenly hits her that she’s gotten her way - and she has no idea what the hell she is supposed to do now.

* * *

It’s just like old times.

Well, almost.

They’re not in some musty old cigar lounge, surrounded by antiques and liquor that’s older than they are, hiding out from their parents while they skive off whatever chores and other responsibilities they were supposed to be doing. It’s not quite Christmas, not for another couple of weeks yet, though the weather is cold enough for it to feel like it. But she’s got a gas fireplace in her posh flat, so they’re curled up on her designer sofa in front of it, both holding a tumbler of rather good whiskey, their fingers gone a bit orange from the bag of half-eaten nacho cheese Doritos on the coffee table beside them. They’re posted up at opposite ends of the couch, their backs pressed to the arm rests and legs intertwined in the middle as they talk softly in the dim, flickering light. She’s got one of those hundred-disc cd changers, and an old Foo Fighters song is playing now, the mellow tones of February Stars drifting out, lulling him in the late hour and making him think about things like _hanging on_ , and being _where he belongs_ , and how every time Regina comes into his life she never fails to _steal the show_.

God he misses her.

He’s been having her catch him up on what she’s been doing since they last spoke, and he’s learned that her job working with the youth foundation out of Chicago has relocated her to London for the foreseeable future. She’s given him an overview of the rather mundane work she’s been doing with them - it’s not _his_ opinion that the work seems dull, Robin finds everything about Regina to be interesting, could listen to her talk about her life for hours if she’d agree to it - no, he gathers that judgment from the way _she_ looks when she describes it to him.

When Regina’s excited about something, when she’s truly into it, her entire presence changes - her eyes flash, her cheeks flush, her hands wave about, and she absolutely _cannot_ sit still. When they were younger, her eagerness to get out and explore the world used to startle him, because when he first met her, Robin was on a fast track to nowhere. He didn’t have any hopes and dreams, he didn’t have a _future,_ and he expected nothing of the world. It was strange for him to befriend someone who was so enthusiastic about something that to him, didn’t exist. But she changed all that, she changed _him_ , and he’d discovered that when she’s passionate about something, she becomes a force of nature - her pure excitement bursting out of her with so much energy that she can change the trajectory of even the most wayward soul.

She doesn’t show this side of her to everyone though - her mother surely would’ve thought it improper, likely drove the impulse out of her well before she met Robin - so he’d had to earn her trust before he’d learned her to be this way. He loves it though, loves how she drops her guard with him, that she tells him about all of the things she hopes to accomplish and exactly how she plans to do them. He loves the way she gets adorable and shy, the way she smiles and blushes and looks up at him with her eyes shining in curiosity while she awaits his opinion.

So it’s easy for him to tell when she’s absolutely _not_ into something, like this job she’s got now, because her body language is all wrong when she starts explaining her role to him. The more questions he asks, the more she tips her chin up, like she’s just waiting for her mother’s palm to connect with her cheek, and she’s giving him this strange, fake smile, and the tone she’s using while she talks about the ins and outs of her job is nothing short of _professional._ Then she starts feeding him some rubbish about how rewarding she finds it, how she doesn’t miss playing her violin or the stress from her performances, all while she very carefully averts her eyes with a well-timed readjustment of the fleece blanket that’s draped across her knees, and he knows for a fact that she positively _hates_ her job.

She might be able to fool everyone else with that rehearsed load of crap, but not him.

He won’t press her on it tonight though. It’s far too late, or early, depending on how you look at it, to get into complicated stuff like that, and because she’s hiding it, he knows it must be a sensitive subject. But he’s curious why she’s wasting her time with it if it’s not what she wants to do - that’s not very characteristic of the bold, audacious girl he remembers.

“Will you tell me about Roland?” she asks quietly, her foot rubbing alongside his beneath the blanket, her head tipped to rest against the couch.

Robin grins. Now _there’s_ something he can talk about.

He tells her all about his boy, how he’s just learned to roll from his tummy onto his back all on his own, how he’s starting to babble and has a new affinity for shoving his tiny feet in his mouth whenever Robin’s not looking. They’ve had to make him go barefoot for almost a week now in order to avoid a choking hazard - the little bloke is sneaky and seems to wait for the second his daddy takes his eyes off him to grab for his foot - and all adorable, teeny-tiny socks are now banned in the Fitzgerald-Locksley household.

Regina smiles and laughs along with him as he regales her with a few stories, bragging about the milestones Roland’s hit and especially the ones where his boy has outdone other babies his age.

“He’s still a bit of a half-pint,” Robin shrugs, drops his eyes as he picks at his thumbnail a bit nervously and adds, “But his doctor says he’s on track otherwise, that he’s healthy. I guess his size, it’s uh, a side effect or something.”

“A side effect?”

He frowns, fights the shame that rises in him and forces himself to meet her gaze, which is sharp and steady on him. He doesn’t keep secrets, not from her.

“Yeah,” he purses his lips and admits, “Marian had a bit of a coke habit when she first got pregnant with Roland.” Regina’s eyes narrow and he senses her anger, nods his agreement. “When she decided to keep the baby she got clean, but it wasn’t easy, and she had a couple of relapses. She’s good now - I know she is because she’s breastfeeding and she’s got regular check ups so she’s got to be - but that’s why he came early, s’why he’s small.”

There’s a heavy silence between them while he lets Regina absorb the information. Her eyes are steady on him, so steady, and he can’t help but to stare back, to take in the familiar dark chocolate that’s interrupted by those pretty gold flecks that are damned-near sparkling in the flicker of the firelight. He wonders what she’ll think of them now that she knows this family flaw of theirs, what she might say about it if she ever sees Marian again.

After a moment, she tips her head to the side and says quietly, firmly, “I’m sure he’s perfect, just brimming with potential.” She pauses and nods, licks her lips then lowers her tone as she holds his eyes and adds, “Just like his daddy.”

Robin feels his ears burn, his cheeks flush red, and he smirks at her before nudging her foot with his.

“Well, next time I see Will, I’ll be sure to tell him what a favorable opinion you’ve had all these years,” he teases, leans forward and attempts to steal her blanket. Even with the fireplace on it’s gotten a bit chilly.

Regina rolls her eyes. “We both know that Will Scarlet is _not_ Roland’s father,” she tugs the blanket back to her and does her best to squirm away, but her back is already against the armrest and she can’t really go anywhere. Robin heartily agrees with her, and they spend a few seconds play-fighting over the blanket, hauling it back and forth across the couch in dramatic fashion, but she’s stubborn and won’t give it up, so he switches tactics and drops it in favor of wrapping his chilly hands around her warm, bare calves.

She squeaks out this _very_ girly little noise before she declares, “Jesus, you’re freezing!” Then she’s up off the couch and pulling on his hand, leading him in the direction of what is surely her bedroom, and suddenly he’s catapulted out of the past and right back into the present.

This really isn’t a good idea.

“Regina,” he warns, tightens his fingers on hers and brings her to a stop in the doorway of her bedroom. “I think I ought to sleep on the couch tonight.”

“On the couch?” In the dim light of the living room, her pout is temptingly adorable and he wants to kiss it away, wants to cup her face with his hands and kiss her cheeks, her lips, until she smiles properly for him.

Damnit, Robin, _focus._

“Yeah,” he tries, “It’s late you know? And - and uh - we should probably just call it a night.” He catches a glimpse of the huge king-sized bed that lies just past her shoulder and he just _knows_ that it’s got some sort of brilliant designer, trillion-thread-count sheets on it, but he forces himself to let go of her hand, to tread back to the sofa. “I’ll just sleep here and maybe we can have a chat in the morning?”

Regina frowns.

“But you’re cold.”

She says it like there’s only one possible solution to warming him up, and while he agrees that spending the night in her arms is the most preferable solution, it’s probably not the smartest. His heart can only take so much damage before it’s totally ruined.

“I’ll survive,” he shrugs and picks up the blanket before tucking in on the couch.

“But –”

“It’s fine,” he waves her off, then thinks again and asks her for a toothbrush.

After scrubbing his face and running through an abbreviated night-time routine in her bathroom, he returns to the sofa and settles in, proud of himself for being able to resist her. A few minutes pass and he hears the opening of her bedroom door, then he cracks his eyes open to see her padding across the living area, holding two more blankets in her arms.

“Since you’re being stubborn,” she whisper-scolds, draping one large quilt across the back of the couch for easy access before opening the other up and spreading it out over him. She’s smiling, but it’s got a sad lilt to it while she goes about tucking him in, making sure every inch of him is covered before stepping back and murmuring, “Feel free to help yourself to whatever else you need. Or, if you can’t find something, I’m just through there,” she nods to her room. “Come and get me, it’s no bother.”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures, but she worries her bottom lip for a moment before he repeats himself, and with that, she awkwardly wanders back to her room. He notices she doesn’t close the door all the way though - she leaves it cracked as if in invitation for him to enter - and he has to fight the urge to leap up and follow her right through the door.

It’s a few minutes before he hears Regina's footsteps again, and he watches with a little amused smile as she quietly slips out of her bedroom and pads past him toward the kitchen. She's got on these long-sleeve, silky looking pajamas that probably cost more than his truck, and they only add to his usual inclination of wanting to touch her, making him imagine how satiny-smooth the fabric must be, how it’s warm against her skin. The dark, forest green color is a real compliment to her golden skin and thick, onyx hair, and he watches with amusement as she fights with the heavy strands that brush the tops of her shoulders, pushing it back out of her eyes with one hand just before she disappears from his line of sight and he hears her open the refrigerator.

She comes back a few seconds later and he continues to quietly observe as she sets a bottle of water on the coffee table for him. He thinks that’s it - she starts to walk off - but then she turns back and slips a marble coaster beneath it, then twists off the cap, and he notices she’s not holding a second bottle of water for herself.

He smirks.

“Stop fretting over me and go to bed, darling,” Robin sits most of the way up and takes her hand, brushes his thumb across the backs of her knuckles and promises, “I give you my word, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She gives their joined hands a long, somewhat forlorn look, bounces on her heels like she desperately wants to say something to counter him, but then she just tucks her hair back with a nod and retreats to her bedroom again, giving him a good look at how her round arse fills out those dark green satin pajama bottoms. His eyes trace over her form and all he can think is, _damn_ , there is nothing she doesn’t look good in. He may have already had the privilege of running his hands over her once tonight, and he's certainly grateful for it, but he's got to admit that his control is starting to slip, and if she asks him to join her in bed again he’s going to have a difficult time sticking to his original decision.

For the moment however, Robin manages to take a deep breath and talk himself down. He reminds himself why it's a bad idea, of how he's not supposed to be in love with her anymore, how he broke her trust and how she stomped on his heart, and that he's not sure if they're a good match for the long haul. He thinks of his son and holds tight to the fact that he’s got to do what's good for Roland - he can't afford to go getting all love-struck and love- _sick_ again over the same woman - he's got to start learning his lessons and taking better care of himself. His boy deserves a good dad, a _great_ dad, not a wallowing fool who never learns his bloody lessons.

He lays on his back for a bit, staring at the ceiling and wondering what she’s playing at, what could’ve changed over these past few months to make her tell him she loves him, when he hears her enter the living room yet again, and he leans up to see her carrying a pillow and heading his way.

“I um…” she licks her lips and holds the pillow out to him as she nears the couch. “I thought this might be more comfortable for you.”

The plush throw pillows currently beneath his head are more than sufficient, but he accepts the one she brought him anyway, because she looks like it’ll kill her if he doesn’t, and he just doesn’t have it in him to hurt her if he doesn’t absolutely have to. The pillowcase matches the black and white geometric pattern of her comforter, so his new pillow has definitely come from her bed, and as he tucks it under his head, he inhales the heady scent of her shampoo. Robin sighs heavily with contentment - god, how he misses those little things about her.

He settles in once more, but now her scent is all around him, the fire is flickering and casting long shadows, and it makes him think of the cigar lounge. He’s trying to do what’s right, to protect his fragile heart, but it occurs to him that perhaps he doesn’t need to be quite so cautious, that perhaps this is one wall he doesn’t have to build between them. It’s not like this is the first time they might share a bed, not like they haven’t fallen asleep curled up together under warm blankets. It’s not like they have to _sleep together_ to sleep together. Regardless of their romantic relationship, they’ve been through so much and he still wants to be friends with her. Even if he isn’t able to love her the way he really wants to, he will _always_ love her as his friend, so there’s really no reason for him to rob them of the comfort a good cuddle might provide.

By the time he’s got his head sorted out though, she’s already back in her room, so with his heart in one hand and his pillow in the other, he takes a chance and knocks softly on her still part-way open door.

“Regina?”

She hums softly in response and he pokes his head inside the darkened room.

“You know, it really is a bit chilly…”

That’s all it takes to have her pulling back the thick, black comforter in invitation and scooching her small body toward the middle of the large bed to make room for him. He closes the bedroom door behind him, then situates his pillow in the space she made for him, before he starts to climb in next to her.

“You’re not seriously going to wear your jeans to bed, are you?”

Robin glances down at his jeans, then back up at her and realizes much too late that he’s never thought of Regina Mills as _just a friend_ , and he’s got no idea how to start now.

“Sorry?”

“You can take them off,” she suggests lightly, “I don’t mind.”

A small laugh bubbles up from his chest and Robin shakes his head as he starts unbuckling his belt.

“What’s so funny?” For the first time tonight, Regina sounds a bit peeved, and it only makes him more amused.

“You’ve got a real knack for getting me to take my trousers off, you know?”

“Well, I don’t hear you complaining.”

He chuckles and steps out of his jeans, toes off his socks, then shakes his head and agrees with her. He considers leaving his shirt on, then decides he’d rather be comfortable than fight with it riding up on him all night, and he tugs that over his head too.

“This is the first time we’ve slept together that you’re not wearing ridiculous underwear,” she comments, smirking as he slides into bed, and he wants to kiss it right off her lips.

“Well, I’m a very responsible parent now. Very mature and grown up.” He tugs the blankets up and he’s plenty warm enough, but for some reason he’s still shifting over, closer and closer until he’s in the center of the bed with her. They’re laying on their sides, facing each other, their shins bumping and hands tucked up between them so close that all he’d have to do is extend his fingers to brush hers. “And if we’re going to start comparing, we really should have a look at your underthings too, you know. It’s only fair.”

She bites her lip. “I’m not wearing _underthings._ ”

Robin groans and squeezes his eyes shut, but the damage has been done, and he can’t stop picturing her naked –

“Stop picturing me naked.”

He opens his eyes and laughs. “Not possible.”

She rolls her eyes at him and swats his chest, and that little bit of contact is what breaks him, has him reaching for her waist and wrapping his arm around her to close the gap so that they’re cuddled up close, chest to chest, their legs threaded together and his nose in her hair.

“Oh, you’re not going to pretend you have hypothermia this time?” she teases. “Come on, you’re not even trying.”

He drops a kiss to the top of her head without thinking and quips, “Oh, I’m trying, darling, trust me - I’m trying like hell.”

There’s a beat of silence, then her hand rubs lightly across the center of his chest and she says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“What is it you keep apologizing for?” he asks. It’s easier like this - to talk to her when she’s tucked in against him, when he doesn’t have the chance to get lost in her eyes.

“For leaving,” she sighs and snuggles closer, “So much was happening so fast, and I needed time to figure things out, to figure _me_ out.”

“And have you?”

“Mm, yes and no. There’s still a lot I’m not sure about. And even if you still wanted to try to be together, I honestly can’t say I know how I would handle this situation. I haven’t been around very many babies, so I don’t know if I’m good with kids, or if Roland would like me. I don’t know how Marian and I would deal with each other, or how she would feel about me being in your life. But I do know I’m glad we ran into each other tonight. It probably doesn’t seem like it, but since we fought in July, I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you, what to say to fix this, but everything I have come up with just seems… inadequate.”

“I wish this didn’t have to be so complicated,” he rubs his hand up and down her back and feels frustration roll through him.

She nods against his chest. “I know I’m the one who left, Robin, but I’ve missed you so much. Being apart hasn’t been easy for me.”

“Me either.”

“What do we do now?” Her voice is small and nervous, and he’s so tired of fighting, tired of complications, tired of never getting what he wants.

“For the record, nothing you do is inadequate,” he kisses the top of her head, ignores the way she huffs in response to his statement, and continues, “and if you’re serious about it, I… I do want to try. I’ll always want to try with you.” He holds his breath and waits for the other shoe to drop.

Her arm slides around his waist and she hugs him close to her for a moment before she says quietly, “Are you sure?” She sounds so worried that it makes his eyes burn with the way her heart has been so habitually abused. “But what about… everything?”

Robin shakes his head and pulls back so he can look her in the eyes to tell her truthfully, “The only thing that matters is that we’re here together now. My feelings for you were… _are_ real, and unless you change your mind –”

“I’m with you,” she interrupts, shaking her head and bringing her hand up to sweetly stroke his cheek. “Always.”

He ducks his head and presses a slow, gentle kiss to her lips, then another, and another. She falls asleep first and Robin tries to stay awake, tries to prolong this perfect moment with her wrapped up with him like this, but he’s too comfortable, too warm and safe in the circle of her arms, and it’s impossible to keep his eyes open. Her smile is a balm for his soul, her affection is the antidote to his despair, her embrace is simply, his home. He follows her into sleep within seconds, his whole heart truly happy for the first time in almost a year, full of hope for the future and excited for all the things that tomorrow might bring.

After all this time, Robin finally has his Regina, and this time, he just knows it’s for keeps.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Koala Hug](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304003) by [ankareeda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankareeda/pseuds/ankareeda)




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